


Penumbra

by zoryany



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Luke, Darth Vader's A+ parenting, Dreamsharing, Emperor Darth Vader, Father-Son Relationship, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Visions, Gen, Imperial Luke Skywalker, Past Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Skywalker Family Drama, Skywalker Family Feels, Tatooine (Star Wars), Tatooine Slave Culture, but not really dark luke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-05-19 15:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoryany/pseuds/zoryany
Summary: Penumbra. Noun. Latin - paene (almost), umbra (shadow)1 - a space of partial illumination between the perfect shadow and the full light.aka I jump on the Vader and Luke oneshot collection bandwagon.#1 - Hollow Drama: The holodrama Luke puts on to pass the time raises some anxiety, which Emperor Vader does his best to soothe.#2 - When the Time Comes: Luke saves his dad and asks the impossible of him, causing Vader to have Feelings.#3 - The Best Laid Plans: "The plan was going great until we got arrested!"#4 - Children of the Sand and Sky: Luke and Vader meet at Shmi Skywalker's grave.#5 - "Why do you have a picture of me?" for Luke and Vader.#6 - Tumblr Prompts, pt 1#7 - Dreams: All his life, Luke Skywalker had dreamed, so he didn't think too much about the dreams he began to have about places he'd never been and people he'd never seen. That is, until, the dreams take a turn to the strange...





	1. Hollow Drama

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! I've got quite a few long projects on the go, but this is going to be one of those casual, less stressful projects that I come and explore from time to time. Some will be canon, some canon divergent, and some full AU, but all involving that dynamic between the Galaxy's Okayest Dad and the precious son he does not deserve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holodrama Luke watches to pass the time sparks some anxiety, which Emperor Vader does his best to soothe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is an Emperor Vader verse developed by me and a former writing partner. Not every oneshot in this collection will be in this verse, but I may or may not write a couple more in it if I get inspired.
> 
> The basic rundown, though, is that while Vader was recovering from Mustafar and adjusting to his suit, Palpatine tracked down and killed Obi-wan and planned to take Luke and raise him as his own secret apprentice so he could have two Skywalkers under his control. Unfortunately, dear old Palps underestimated the connection between father and son, baby Luke alerting his father to his existence by crying and unconsciously reaching into the Force for a parent. Vader murders Sheev, takes over as Emperor, lets the Senate handle politics for the most part, and keeps Luke a well-kept secret, so his son cannot be stolen from him again. There's more nuance to all of it than that but I don't think you really need to know much more that the basics to get this story so! Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

The Imperial flagship, _The Executor,_ was a grand and sprawling marvel of engineering that far surpassed anything that had ever come before it and would remain unparalleled in the galaxy for years to come. Designed to combine speed with raw power, the warship was capable of outpacing and outgunning nearly any ship it encountered, and it did so decisively. To serve aboard this vessel was considered the greatest honour and privilege one could achieve within the navy, because it often was commanded by the emperor himself, a feared yet respected man who far preferred to dabble in the military side of things than the political. He demanded competence and punished failure harshly, but he did not ask his men to do anything he would not do himself. Thousands of the Empire’s absolute finest served aboard the vessel, its nineteen kilometres of titanium-reinforced durasteel forming a metallic, hyperdrive-equipped city among the stars.

A never-ending bustle of activity and excitement buzzed through the ship, ensuring there was never a second of complete calm throughout the entirety of the vessel. There was no opportunity for a dull moment because that meant _someone_ wasn’t doing their job, and the moment would not be dull for very much longer.

And yet, despite all this, Luke was _bored._

Today’s mission was deemed too dangerous for Luke to participate in, so he was stuck on _The Executor_. He felt like he’d explored every inch of this vessel already, like he’d discovered every secret, and while that _probably_ wasn’t true, it certainly felt like he’d exhausted all of his options when he knew he couldn’t even interact with the thousands of crew members who also occupied the flagship. He could risk it with those who weren’t quite as strong-minded, and force them to forget they’d ever spoken, but his father frowned upon that, preferring not to take the risk in the first place. Sequestering himself in his rooms with no droid projects to work on, meditation laying beyond his reach and only the poor company of his nearby Noghri guards, the teenager fought an increasing loneliness and sense of unending tedium that threatened to overtake him and as each dull hour bled into the next. Not even his training seemed enough to keep his mind occupied.

So, in a fit of desperation, he’d turned to the petty and shallow entertainment of _holodramas._

In his youth, he’d been enamoured with the more adventurous stories, the ones that romanticized heroes that fought against great evils, imagining himself fighting alongside his father and playing the role of _saviour_ that he so longed to, someday. These fantasies had been quelled fairly early on, however, his father informing him in no uncertain terms that such flights of fancy were unbecoming of one in his station, and this imaginary world simply stood in the way of their Empire’s _true_ goals. Still, through his younger years, Luke would indulge himself in those brief moments of imagination and get lost in the thoughts of the two of them sweeping through the galaxy as the heroes they claimed they were.

After their last few missions against the burgeoning Rebel groups, however, Luke found the adventure stories harder to stomach. Having served (albeit, anonymously) alongside his father on these missions, he’d found their own actions more in line with the villains, and those of the rebels more akin to the heroes, and that was a prospect that was growing difficult to stomach.

(Never mind that his father’s personal fleet was known as _The Death Squadron,_ which already screamed ‘executioner’ to the galaxy at large. Despite how his father insisted it was the _only way,_ Luke was loath to rule by fear, and would always long for a better way.)

Those thoughts were kept strictly to himself, however. Keeping things from his father was difficult, but Luke had discovered certain tricks to avoid revealing things he was better off not mentioning. He was not considering treason or anything to that extent, would never defy his father, but he knew how poorly a man like Darth Vader would take it if he found out his own son had any sorts of doubts about the galaxy he had shaped and worked tirelessly to keep safe for the sake of said son. Besides, he trusted his father. He was still a teenager, one who knew very little about the larger galaxy beyond what he’d learned in his history and political classes, and he had always been told that their actions were for the greater good. Real life was not a holo adventure, and the heroes and villains were not always as clear cut as they were in fantasy.

With adventure officially off the table, he turned to the most mindless of distractions: Romantic, Comedic Holodramas.

Many of the programs he’d scrolled through seemed petty and a waste of his time, but after several minutes of flicking through channels, he’d landed on one that seemed… _satisfactory._ It involved royalty. It involved heirs and desires that defied the laws of tradition. It involved arranged courtship and forbidden love and heartbreak and intrigue and several of the things that had won him over in the adventure holos. But this one…

This one struck him because of the status of the main characters. One was Royalty. High Royalty. One of the highest beings in their universe, expected to wed well, to make political connections that would benefit The System, and not herself. To love who she was told to, and not to follow what her heart said. To marry a wealthy, powerful man and have lots of royal babies to further their lineage. The other was a woman of a noble standing, but her station was deemed far too low for someone as _important_ as the woman she longed to be with. The story maintained a lighthearted tone, their hidden romance leading to several humourous circumstances, but there was an undercurrent of tragedy to the situation, the threat of very real consequences looming, should they ever be found out.

And that _scared_ Luke.

Technically, he was a prince. As his father’s only son, he would take on the burden of the Empire, someday, and that meant that he was responsible for continuing their legacy. For keeping the peace that only _they_ had the capacity to maintain. For proliferating generations of prosperity and happiness. But…

His father had never mentioned the desire for a _dynasty._ He cared that Luke was his flesh and blood, cared that he was _family,_ but had never spoken of what was in store… _beyond_ that. He’d always seemed far more concerned for the immediate, for the tangible, for the things he could close his fingers around and claim for his own. But there were also some things he deemed as implicit, things he shouldn’t have to say outright and were just known to be the way of things without him saying so directly. Since he was considered a prince – _The_ Imperial Prince – then there was a possibility that this was a tradition they would not break, unspoken or otherwise.

After several episodes of repetitive and cliched stories that began to run together, Luke found boredom was setting in once again, this time mingled with an undercurrent of anxiety that spoiled any entertainment he’d been getting from the program. Shutting it off, he sighed and positioned himself on one of the mats in his training space and settled in for an attempt at meditation. Most likely, this attempt would be _unsuccessful,_ but there was little else to do, and it would probably be several more hours until his father returned.

The Force was unsteady as it wrapped him in its shaky embrace, but he could still feel its warmth and light dancing across his skin. It was that feeling that he latched on to, inviting it in, opening himself up to it, and it was that warmth and light that allowed his nerves to calm and meditation to settle over him. There was strength and power to be found on the cold, dark side of the Force that his father operated on, but little comfort, and Luke was grateful for the soothing nature of the side that came so naturally to him.

Soon, his breathing slowed, grew steady, and while no answers came forth readily, he still felt his boredom abate, his anxiety dissipate, and a sense of calm take their place with each cleansing inhale and calming exhale. He might have sat there for seconds or minutes, hours or days, but that didn’t matter, so long as he felt centred. Whatever the future held mattered little next to his connection to the here and now, to the universe that surrounded him, to the plane of existence he occupied and was inherently connected to.

That same serene state of being persisted until a chill permeated the recycled air of his quarters, signalling the return of his father, and Luke pulled himself back into the present as a quiet thrill rippled through him. The heavy presence radiated by the masked, towering emperor was stifling to some, but Luke clung to it and wrapped it around himself like a blanket. It put him at ease in a way so different from the bright warmth of the Force, but it was familiar and safe and comfortable, and the prospect of any previous anxieties seemed unthinkable with it looming overhead.

Fluttering eyelids revealed his bright blue eyes, which instantly locked with his father’s red-tinged eyeplates, and no longer than a handful of seconds passed before Luke scrambled to his feet and bowed his chin. “Father,” he greeted reverently. “I trust your mission was a success?”

The only direct answer he received was a minute tilt of the helmet down and then back up. The silence that hung between them and the hesitation before speaking spoke volumes – far more than any words that might have passed between the two. When interpreting Darth Vader, careful attention had to be paid to what _wasn’t_ said just as much as what _was._ “You are troubled, my son.”

Ah. So he was reading Luke’s anxieties. It was not a question so much as it was a statement of fact. There was very little the one could hide from the Galaxy’s Most Powerful Man, particularly when one was said Most Powerful Man’s offspring. Luke, at fifteen years old, thought himself simultaneously too old to bow beneath his father’s every demand and too young to handle every emotion on his own, but he found himself shrinking at the oppressive scrutiny he suddenly found himself under as that black mask remained immovable, inscrutable and expectant. Shifting slightly, as imperceptibly as he could possibly manage, the boy allowed another few seconds of silence to tick by until he finally answered. “I… yeah. I guess you could say that I am.”

“Your distress was broadcast _very loudly_ through your meditations,” Vader rumbled, folding his arms across his armoured chest as he fell into silence once more. Getting the distinct impression of a raised, scarred brow behind that implacable mask, Luke knew he was entering a battle of wills he was destined to lose. Staring up at his father, he stood resolute as the suffocating silence passed between the two of them, pressing down on him until, at last, he crumpled beneath the weight of his father’s gaze.

Luke’s shoulders hunched slightly as a heavy sigh resonated in his chest. This was embarrassing enough to admit to himself, let alone the Supreme Leader of the Galaxy, and the words spilled out stuttering and choked as he forced them out. “I – I was just. Watching some holodramas. Since I had nothing better to do. Petty things. Stories that I wouldn’t indulge in otherwise, but it got me thinking. About the future, I mean. The things that are a ways of. When I get older – although these characters were only a couple years older than me – but I just…” He was rambling, he knew, stalling the point and avoiding the feelings he truly wanted to express, but he swallowed thickly and re-oriented himself as he sensed his father’s growing annoyance at his scattered words. “Are you going to arrange a marriage for me?”

It was _instantaneous,_ the plunge in the room’s temperature, Vader’s rage permeating their quarters, their wing, their entire ship. Luke instinctually moved to shrink back from it, but he stopped himself when he realized the anger was not directed towards him. Instead, his father’s thoughts had drifted to the past, to a time when he’d harboured fears not identical but similar enough to spark worry for the state of his ongoing happiness. The weight of these emotions was enough to catch Luke’s breath in his throat, to instill a fear of suffocation at just how _raw_ everything was as it rippled through him, but it was quickly replaced by a resignation that seemed so alien to the pillar of strength the emperor typically was. “Luke… _my son._ I would not presume to preside over the matters of your heart.”

Taken aback, Luke felt his eyes widen, his mouth open and close several times, his mind search for an adequate response. He had not been expecting such a level of understanding, such a dissonant softness in the rumbling bass of Vader’s voice _._ It was always abundantly clear that his father _cared for_ him, but there was a line of empathy that the Dark Lord seemed hesitant to cross. That statement, however?  Felt like his father knew entirely how he felt, in some sense at the very least. It was a rare thing, feeling quite so _dumb,_ with his mouth agape and his eyes wide as saucers. But he could not articulate his thoughts or formulate any words to express his disbelief, so instead he simply _stared_ at his father. Even more rare, however, was the dissipation of rage and the hint of amusement at Luke’s lack of response, which elicited nothing more than a huff and a mild pout at that reaction.

While words failed the youth, however, they did not seem to fail his father, who spoke with a twisted bitterness that stood in stark contrast to the gentle words from just moments before. “If that is what I wished, you could count me as a hypocrite. My love for your mother was considered blasphemous,” he declared, easily ignoring Luke’s gasp at the mention of his mother, “and should I declare which beings are worthy of your heart, I would be no better than those who _betrayed me_ all those years ago.”

A moment passed where Luke maintained that clueless expression on his face before it settled into a light smile. “Thank you, Father.” Warmth flooded through him, filling his chest and resonating in every cell in his body. Word of his father’s past – particularly regarding his mother – was a rarity that remained unmatched in the galaxy. He clung to those words harder than the stuffed bantha he’d received as a four-year-old youngling who shivered in his quarters and longed for the comfort of something – _anything_ – to cling to on those long, lonely, arduous nights.

It was a simple exchange, seemingly inconsequential to any other family who might follow the same motions, but the meaning for both father and son resonated within the Force and served only to strengthen their bond.

Focusing in on the source of Luke’s distress, the crackling approximation of a sigh hissed from the vocoder that served as the emperor’s voice as he read the thoughts of his uncertain son. “I cannot forbid you from accessing holodramas – beyond punishment, of course – lest I seem needlessly cruel,” Vader began, an exhaustion and wistfulness lacing his tone, sounding entirely obvious while also seeming like false pacification. “But you must understand, child, that such… _frivolities_ hold very little store in the real world, and you should not deem them an accurate representation of our galaxy.”

The brightening of Luke’s being was undetected to him but bathed his father in the same warmth and light the boy had accessed earlier. It was elusive, working magic in its own, subtle way, but it washed over the bond the two of them shared, and Luke did not need to utter a single syllable to set his father speaking once more. “Your future is your own, young one. I trust you to produce or select an heir as you deem fit. By the time such a thing becomes necessary, my input will be obsolete, so my trust in you remains unwavering, and I shall not question the choice you make.”

It was not long before a pure, unrestrained grin consumed the blond’s features, one familiar solely with the sterility of The Empire would never consider possible in the presence of Lord Vader, but it lit up the entire room, and the warmth quickly overcame the dark coldness. “I understand. I – _appreciate_ that, Father.”

The nod he received was curt and impersonal, to the casual observer, but it meant the world to Luke. Acknowledgement, in moments like this, and the smoothing of his fears, was more than enough to ease some of his concerns and broaden the grin that split his features. Life was no holodrama, he knew, and no romantic comedy, adventure, horror, or anything else could compare to the life he lived as it was. His father was the last, best authority in the galaxy, and whatever doubts he might have felt were crushed immediately in the elder man’s convictions. The galaxy was meant to be this way, and holodramas were, and would always be, fantasy and hollow drama.


	2. When the Time Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You… rescued me.” The words felt odd on his lips, an unfamiliar phrase that sounded uncomfortable and stilted to his ears. It was a strange concept. There were few instances when Darth Vader required rescuing, few beings who could send him into such a state, and even fewer beings who would choose to rescue him at all.
> 
> Or: Luke saves his dad, and asks the impossible of him, causing Vader to have Feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This oneshot came about because I had the line "the same son who had chosen death over his father" stuck in my head and I just had to write something based around that. It has the same energy as my other fic, [Perchance to Dream,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16289651/chapters/38097365) and there is one little exchange that's very similar to an exchange in that fic, but this one is something a bit more... experimental. and kind of nebulous. at any rate !! I hope you all enjoy this one !!

**#2 – When the Time Comes**

_Behind him was nothing but dark. Vast, yawning emptiness, heavy, cold and oily, it crept towards him, stretching forward with thin but powerful tendrils. They probed at his legs, his arms, his chest, his neck, and they tested their grip, trying to drag him back, to swallow him whole. In the blackness, nothing existed to be seen, only to be **felt.** It felt like pain. It felt like anger. It felt endless and consuming._

_And it felt like oblivion. Like nothing._

_Before him was a swirling fog. Dim, obscuring mist, light and cool and eerie, it beckoned him forth, calling him to investigate with nothing but vague shapes moving within. They held familiarity, whispering for him to come to them, to step towards the light, to discover for himself just what lay ahead. In this mist, things could be seen, but sight was not reliable. Once more, it came down to feeling. There was still pain. Still anger. But, rather than oblivion, it was palpable._

_It felt like heartbreak._

_One of the figures in the fog shifted slightly, their silhouette growing more defined. Tumbling curls fell around the still-obscured features of the face, spilling down the shoulders, ending where the dress narrowed then flared and flowed to the floor. Large, gossamer wings seemed to sprout and spread to either side – an angel. The angel spoke, calling to him, voice and words indistinct and lost to the mists, but the intent could not have been more clear. ‘Step forth. There is light beyond the mist. Come forward. Come to me.’_

_The sight sent a stab through him, an ache that he longed to sate by taking that step, a pain he would prefer to bury within the black; he was rooted to the spot and could do neither. Beside the angel, another figure materialized, somewhat taller than the first, but with the same slight and ethereal figure. This time, there were no wings, but an immaculate light radiated around them, cutting through the fog and lighting his way. Features remained indistinct, but…_

_‘You know who we are. Come to us. We’re waiting for you. Your place is with us. How much longer can you deny the truth?’_

_Breathing was already a struggle, but he felt strangled, as though his throat was constricted, his lungs were collapsing, his airway sealed shut. Words could not form on his lips, he could not respond, only despair. With a mighty effort, he lifted a hand, only to find it caught by the tendrils of blackness that longed to pull him into its folds._

_The mist began to fade, as did the void, but the figures remained, and they sharpened. There was something distinct, something he knew… If he could only see their faces!_

_‘Remember us,’ they pleaded in unison, their voices ringing in an angelic harmony. ‘And when the time comes, choose us.’_

_He could make out the colour of the eyes, one pair of earthy brown, one pair of sky blue, and he struggled to reach forward before they faded with the fog and the world went blank around him…_

Breath flooded unbidden into his lungs, burning as it struggled past his ravaged windpipe and stretched his aching chest. He was dimly aware of the rocky walls surrounding him, dimly aware of the pain coursing through his body, dimly aware of the faint gasp that echoed from several metres away.

He was sharply aware of the absence of _the Force._

The growl that rumbled in Darth Vader’s throat reverberated through the cave, darkened by the vocoder that interpreted the weak vibrations from his damaged vocal cords and rattled every being alive down to their bones. Whoever was responsible would _pay,_ dearly and severely, and regret ever being brought into their pitiful existence. Fighting through the stabs of pain that shot through every nerve in his body, the Dark Lord collected himself, drawing upward to face whatever scum would dare –

His joints locked, and he found himself frozen in place. Physically, he could move no further because of the restraints holding him in place, but even if he were free to move as he pleased, he would be just as immobile as he was now. At the mouth of the cave, still and tense, stood a figure he never would have expected to linger there by choice.

_His son._

The same son he’d pursued for years, since discovering his survival. The same son he’d chased and baited and hoped would face him. The same son he’d dueled and dismembered. The same son who had chosen _death_ over his own father…

The same son who stood tall before his father now.

A closer look at the boy revealed a determined glint to his eyes and a stubborn set to his jaw. His shoulders squared and chin held high, there was a persistent resolve to his stance that stood in stark contrast to the quivering child who had arrived to face him at Cloud City not even a year before. This was no mere boy. No, this was a _man,_ forged in fire and blood, rebellious and righteous and prepared to face those who would stand in his way.

He was a silhouette who stood as a spitting image of his mother, a defiant edge to his gaze gleaming past the kindness that glowed deep within his heart. It was a softness that did not diminish the strength of the resolve behind it, a resolve that Vader had found himself bowing to in days gone by. It was an expression that perfectly blended that of Amidala and _the Jedi._ He seemed bathed in an aura of light, radiating from his slight but strong frame, cutting through the fog that was still clearing from Vader’s mind. The image stabbed a familiar and ancient pain through his chest.

“Skywalker.”

The sound of his rumbling hoarsely from the damaged vocoder caused a twitch to spasm through the silhouetted figure. A blaster was clutched in his hand – the right hand, Vader noted, certainly prosthetic though not obviously so – and levelled at the Sith Lord’s chestplate. Regret mingled with the flaming determination in his eyes, and conflict danced across his features as several breaths rattled his ribcage.

“I’m sorry about the restraints,” Luke said, his voice steeped in sincerity. “They’re a precaution, at this point. Needed them before, during repairs. Repairing your life support was delicate work, and I couldn’t have you thrashing around while I did it, especially if you woke up while I was still working. Now, though…” He sighed and shook his head, a crease wrinkling his brow as a number of thoughts flashed across his face. “The Force inhibitor they injected you with will wear off in a couple hours, I think. If not sooner. They shot me up with it, too, and my system cleared it out not long after I got us here.”

Memories broke through the haze, flashing in Vader’s mind as the words registered in his mind. He recalled the holocom from the pirates claiming to have a certain rebel pilot in their custody. The strange blankness in the Force surrounding the base. The anger that boiled in him at the sight of his son looking exhausted and ragged as he tried to shoo him away. The electrical current that surged through him and locked the joints in his prosthetics. Shadowy figures and loud voices and the sound of blasterfire. And then the darkness.

“Dragging you out of there wasn’t easy, you know,” Luke continued. “Do you have any idea how heavy you are? Not to mention all the blaster bolts I had to dodge – _without_ even having the Force or a lightsaber to help.” It was casual, the mention of the lightsaber, but a twinge of bitterness coated that word as he spoke it. Vader could not find it in himself to feel guilt. But, perhaps, he could admit to a hint of regret… “Eventually I managed to find a hovercart to dump you on and shoot our way out of there.” He nodded to an inactive cart near the cave wall, littered with an assortment of tools and wires. “Conveniently, it was a maintenance cart, and had most of what I needed for repairs. I’m no expert on the particulars of your suit or prosthetics, but I’m confident you’ll survive at least until you can access the Force again and get yourself out of here.”

Several cycles of his respirator passed as the impassive mask remained fixed, unwavering, on the boy. “You… rescued me.” The words felt odd on his lips, an unfamiliar phrase that sounded uncomfortable and stilted to his ears. It was a strange concept. There were few instances when Darth Vader required rescuing, few beings who could send him into such a state, and even fewer beings who would choose to rescue him at all.

Luke responded with a shrug. “I couldn’t just let them kill you. At least not like that. Dismantling your life support, keeping you from being able to fight back… Just seemed needlessly cruel.” His lips curled and his nose wrinkled as he spoke. It was incredible, the conviction in his, as though it was such an obvious thought. Maintaining the dignity and honour of someone he’d done nothing but run from was deemed more important than his own self preservation. To give a warrior an opportunity to die on his feet, in battle, was preferable to taking advantage of a morally questionable tactical edge.

“You are a fool.”

Momentarily, the expected reaction of protest and indignation rippled through Luke, but it dissolved into a sigh and a dry chuckle. A wry smirk tugging at his lips, he shook his head. “Yeah, I know. And I’m naïve, idealistic, clueless, a dreamer, a know-nothing farmboy… But I’m not about to turn my back on what I know is right just because everyone else seems to think I should.”

“It is unwise and _reckless_ to take such risks for those you would count as an enemy.” If he could, he would be pointing an accusatory finger in Luke’s face. As such, he would have to settle for injecting as much authority into his tone as possible. It occurred to him, dimly, what a twisted caricature of a father reprimanding his son their exchange was.

That image was further solidified when the insolent boy had the audacity to roll his eyes. “So, what, is that it? I should just look out for me and my own? I’m supposed to abandon my ideals just because I’m dealing with someone outside my immediate circle? I should just _allow_ needless suffering, only to preserve myself? That is _not_ who I am. I won’t change that just because it’s _you_ who needed my help.”

Pain throbbed through the remains of Vader’s burnt, scarred flesh, stabbing deep into his chest, searing hotter with each laboured breath. He would claim it to be a result of the ordeal the blasted pirates had put him through – the pirates he would tear to pieces for their every offence, when he broke free – but a traitorous voice at the back of his brain, likely the result of the fog that still persisted there, whispered that it stemmed from something else. That righteous conviction spoke to his mother, but the reckless abandon with which he pursued it absolutely _screamed_ ‘Skywalker.’ This boy served as a painful reminder of a past fraught with anguish, a link to memories best left forgotten, lingering and festering in the lifetime of someone else, someone _weaker…_

Even so, that did not stop the covetous need to be near him, to claim him and cling to him, to give him everything he longed to give to the woman who’d been the reason for both of their existences.

He despised how weak it made him feel. The Force remained beyond his grasp – though whisperings of its presence hinted at its slow return – and he could not properly harness the resolve his rage typically provided. Frustration and self-loathing frothed within him, rising and falling and churning in a tumultuous dance that ebbed and flowed and threatened to overtake him.

And yet, through his turmoil, those piercing blue eyes remained unwavering in their gaze.

They seemed expectant, hoping for some sort of response that Vader just couldn’t give. The longer they searched, the more uncertainty and disappointment they found. This would not be the first time Vader had been a disappointment to those he deemed _important,_ after all. Luke’s shoulders slumped in mild deflation, but the spark in his eyes never dimmed, and he was quick to press on before Vader had a chance to begin searching for the right words – should they even exist at all.

“I can’t come with you, you know. I still have a job to do, and there are people depending on me.” Very specific people, clearly, likely _rebel scum,_ the likes of which had been a thorn in his side for so many years. Insurgents, fighting desperately against The Empire, had won his son’s loyalty, and a fresh wave of hatred crashed over Vader at the thought that he’d choose _them_ over his own father. Before he could think to interrupt, however, Luke pressed on, perhaps sensing Vader’s displeasure. “I can’t come with you, but… if you ever decide you want to come with _me_ …” He fiddled with something between his fingers, for a moment, before tossing a small object towards Vader with uncanny precision, landing it precisely in his palm and securely in his grasp.

It was a commlink, small and innocuous, but certainly not one that could be considered standard issue. Vader examined it, for a moment, before levelling a curious gaze at his son. The boy was proving more and more enigmatic with each passing second.

“It can only connect to this specific commlink,” Luke explained, waving a matching device as he spoke. “That’s the only frequency programmed in it. And don’t bother tinkering with it to try track me down or anything. It’s rigged to self-destruct if it’s tampered with. But, if you ever want to talk, or… well. Anything else. I’m just a holocall away.”

What he was implying was unreasonably optimistic. Luke had no idea how impossible the reality he was suggesting actually was. Vader existed as a husk, beaten and broken down by his master, enslaved by and sworn to the Dark Side… he could not accept Luke’s offer any more than the boy could accept his. He would be forced to accept death before this alternative. Once, he’d hoped to overthrow said master. Part of him still did. But only the Dark Side could match Sidious, and without their combined strength, they had no hope.

“Luke…”

“You don’t _have_ to be someone I count as an enemy…” His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, detectable only because of the echoing of the cave walls and the enhanced auditory receptors of Vader’s helmet, but the words were undeniable. There was a tremor, as he spoke, some ancient pain of his own sending skittering cracks through his resolve. He appeared to simultaneously doubt the words and have complete, unshakeable faith in them.

A hint of the Force seemed to be prodding at Vader again, detecting a sense of Light that radiated off the foolish child standing before him. His son was a vast, burning beacon of warmth and light, a pillar of faith speaking of beliefs that would be dismissed as impossible for a lesser man. But this boy… this _man._ He could perform miracles. He inspired hope in the faithless and stood as proof that even the impossible could be achieved through enough raw tenacity. Vader longed to reach for that light, to allow it to wash over him, despite how utterly unthinkable the prospects Luke longed for really were. The weak, subconscious grasp he had on the Force seemed to be doing just that, and it took incredible effort to draw back into the shadows he was familiar with.

The boy’s shoulders stiffened and his eyes grew wild. He’d sensed Vader’s burgeoning return to the Force. No doubt he feared his own capture and subjugation. The Sith could not entirely deny that as the result of regaining his power in the presence of his son. “I have to go.” Something frantic flickered across his face and seeped into Luke’s voice. Scowling slightly, he drew himself up and puffed out his chest in a poor imitation of the unwavering resolve he’d displayed before. “I don’t believe this is the last time we’ll see each other, F – _Vader._ ” He caught himself, but the error did not escape Vader’s notice. “We’ll meet again, soon, I’m sure. Until then… May the Force be with you.”

Before he could change his mind, before he could register what he’d said, before he could comprehend the full weight of the encounter he’d just survived, Luke turned on his heel and strode away from the cave.

Several solitary minutes ticked by before Vader could grasp the Force strongly enough to free himself from his restraints. The cuffs were standard, likely taken from the pirates themselves, and they were secured to a craggy rock formation in the cave with chains strong enough to contain him in his weakened state, but not unbreakable with a simple application of his slowly returning strength. The restraints were meant to serve as just enough of a hindrance to give Luke an opportunity to flee, but not meant to secure him indefinitely and leave him for dead. Clever. Foolish, certainly, but clever.

Testing his newly freed limbs, Vader checked the quality of his son’s repairs. His prosthetics felt somewhat stiff, a tad slow to respond, and they were slightly weaker than normal, but they were entirely functional and could carry out their full range of motion. Not perfect, but impressive, considering the poor conditions Luke had to work with. The life support was in a slightly rougher condition, but it was a far more complex system. The rhythmic breaths of the respirator still rattled in time, but they were shallower than usual, and his filters were not operating at peak capacity. But the function was serviceable, and he would indeed survive until he reached the Executor for more extensive repair. Luke had done well. His son was skilled.

Vader could not define the feeling that swelled in his chest at that thought.

Idly, he twisted the commlink between his fingers and considered what to do next. He could pursue the foolish boy. Surely Luke had not gotten far, and there was still a chance to catch up to him. That could very well be a waste of time, however, if his son already had gotten away. He would simply be forcing a needless delay to the repairs he still needed. He could return to his ship, file a report, and begin repairs immediately. That would be the most practical thing to do. It did not feel right, though. It felt hollow. Unsatisfying. All the pain he’d endured today was certain to burst forth in a rage that would be wasted on training droids.

He could destroy the pirates. That simmering rage within him was sure to raise to a boil, and who was more deserving of tasting his wrath than the scum who would _dare_ to steal his strength and his son?

He moved slower than normal, the residual stiffness in his prosthetics hindering his pace, but that only served to make the bloody swath he tore through the base feel all the more deliberate. Before entering, he’d cut the power, leaving the inside in darkness, lit only by the deadly glow of his lightsaber. There would be no petty tricks or surprises this time; they would bear witness to the true power of the Force, would learn that their pitiful technologies were no match for him. He was silent as he strode forward, leaving pirates lying broken at odd angles or sliced to pieces in his wake, but the stone walls echoed with the rasp of his respirator and the pathetic cries of the dead. Each death was just one more justice repaid to these vile beings, and he revelled in it. It sated the thirst for blood and lust for violence that sat at the forefront of his needs.

Playing his role as The Fist of the Empire in this way felt natural, reminded him that he was Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, and he was here to ensure the galaxy knew that none were exempt from the rule of the Empire. This was easy. This was the purpose he had been created for, two decades ago, and he would fulfill it as he always had. It was simple, it was fact, it was pure. It was undeniable. Unquestionable.

It overshadowed the inklings of conflict that were stirring within him.

When the final pirate lay dead at his feet, Vader was left alone with his thoughts, which turned to the commlink tucked in his belt. He tried to ignore it as he strode back towards the shuttle he’d flown in on, but he remained, to his chagrin, keenly aware of its presence. What did Luke hope to accomplish with this? What did he possibly think could come of it? Vader simply could not be the man his son wanted him to be. That man was one who could not survive long in this galaxy, who was weak and easily manipulated, who was doomed to have his dreams crushed, one by one. The galaxy demanded he be Darth Vader, and he was forced to comply. If the boy could not realize this, he would only ever be disappointed by him.

 _He_ would only ever be a disappointment to the boy.

Everything would have been so much easier if Luke had just taken his hand on Bespin. If he had been secured in the carbonite. If he’d been successful on Vrogas Vas. If he’d been able to raise _his son_ as was his _right._ Silently, he cursed Kenobi, as he often did when his rage required a target. So much had been taken from him by that blasted old man, and it was because of _him_ that Vader now faced this indecision. Kenobi had fed Luke lies, which led to that fool son of his imagining that they could… what, live the life together that he’d always dreamed of? It was entirely unreasonable.

But… had Vader himself not dreamed of something similar? That he could capture the boy under the guise of detaining a Rebel and a Jedi, only to have him accept the truth of his lineage and join his father in the idyllic life Vader dreamed of for them?

No… No, Vader’s desires had been grounded in reality. It was the only way. Luke would have learned to accept the truth, even if it had taken time. If he had handled things tactfully, if the child had not proven so stubborn, he could have even accepted it already. It was plausible in a way that Luke’s desires simply were not.

He should crush the commlink, destroy it and forget this encounter ever happened. Stick to his master’s plan. Allow the boy to come to them. Or he could use it to lure his son to him, contact him under the pretense of accepting his offer and bring him in then. Could he betray Luke’s trust like that? It would serve as a lesson against offering his trust so blindly, teach him to be more shrewd in his dealings – a lesson he sorely needed. But Vader hadn’t lied to him yet, and it was clear he’d been fed so many lies already. For now, trust was all he had.

He did not like this indecision. He’d grown used to certainty in his actions. The certainty that arose from the simplicity of serving the Dark Side and hunting those who would defy him served as a comfort, and a confirmation of their justness. All of that had changed with Luke, though. Luke, whose discovery had spurred him into an ambition he hadn’t felt in years. Luke, whose blinding presence in the Force was warm and intoxicating. Luke, whose undying idealism forged him into a better man than most – and would most likely be the cause of his death.

Luke, foolish Luke, who was asking for impossible things…

He’d made impossible things happen before. This one might just be too impossible.

_‘When the time comes… choose us…’_

But… then again… perhaps it was not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on the one hand, I love this as a standalone that could fit into canon, on the other hand, there are other things to explore here. for now, though, take this for what it is, bc I am pretty happy with it. 
> 
> Also, writing Vader perspective is weird to me, and I HAVE done it before but I still think I do better with Luke POV, so if there's any critiques for my Vader, I'd love to hear them!


	3. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The plan was going great until we got arrested!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some vague AU where Vader finds Luke quite a bit earlier and then they agree that working with the rebellion is the best way to end the war and take down Palpatine? I have no details worked out with this and likely won't do much more with it but! Enjoy either way!

“The plan was going great until we got arrested!”

Static crackled from Darth Vader’s vocoder, and his respirator wheezed in protest as each struggled to find some way to interpret the heavy, weary sigh he deemed the only _appropriate_ response to such a ridiculous protest. Enforcing his master’s will on this industrial world was meant to be little more than a milk run mission to stamp out the initial phases of resistance before they could grow to an uprising. It was one of the few sorts of missions he still looked forward to carrying out for the Emperor, fulfilling a certain catharsis that could only be found in crushing those who stood in his way and relishing in the sheer terror his presence wrung from an unruly populace. It was a much-needed relief from Palpatine’s displeasure following the destruction of the Death Star, and he’d almost been eager for the opportunity to release some of the rage that had been building in him for months now.

So much so that he’d nearly forgotten what a cruel sense of humour the Force had. He could not claim to be _surprised_ when he received the news of rebel activity on the planet, even less so when one of them matched the description of his son.

The reporting officer didn’t think twice when Vader demanded the prisoners be left secured but untouched until he arrived to handle the interrogation. It was standard protocol, after all, and any punishment doled bout by the Emperor’s Second in Command would far surpass anything a standard officer was capable of.

That did not, however, eliminate the risk associated with interrogating his own son.

The same son who stared up at him now, gaze unwavering and indignant in the face of the dark spectre that loomed over him. Absently, the boy tugged at the cuffs around his wrists that he could easily remove with the Force but stubbornly allowed to remain, for some unknown – and likely foolish – reason.

Folding his arms across his chest, Vader inclined his helmet slightly to glare down at the reckless child seated before him. He allowed the silence to linger for a few moments more before he finally broke it with a noise that might have been something akin to a growl. “And _how,_ exactly, did you manage to get yourself arrested?”

The boy’s usual obstinate recalcitrance cracked just enough that he shifted in his bonds, but it returned quickly as it vanished, and he had the audacity to roll his eyes. “Well, it’s not like I did it _on purpose._ ”

“Regardless of your intentions, you have placed our mission in danger,” Vader rumbled in response. “Our risk of getting caught increases with every blunder. Being taken in as a rebel is a serious blunder indeed. You are fortunate that I was present to salvage the situation, though we must handle this situation delicately so as not to raise suspicion.”

Huffing loudly – _childishly_ – the blond threw his hands up as far as the restraints would allow and turned a look towards that was perhaps meant to be a glare but closer resembled a pout. “So, what, is that all you care about? Our mission?”

“Luke…” The vocoder did not allow for any significant degree of softness to Vader’s tone, but that lone word always seemed to come a touch quieter than any other, resonating some ancient emotion in the Force with its utterance. His respirator protested again as he attempted to let out a breath far slower than its usual rhythm would allow. “Not at all, my son.” Luke twitched slightly at the address, but the pout-glare did not leave his face. “I do not know how you could believe that. I simply fear what may happen should you get caught when I am not here to intervene. And, should this happen again, what might come of you if the… _true nature_ of our relation – and motivation – became known.”

Luke huffed again, softer this time, and leaned back in his seat as the cuffs finally clattered off his wrists. Rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, he appeared, for the briefest flash of a moment, older than his twenty years. “I know… I understand. I’m sorry.” He sat there for a moment, appearing weary and contrite, but that moment did not last long before the youth returned to his face, accompanied by a slight whine to his voice. “I really wasn’t _trying_ to get caught, you know. I mean, how was I supposed to know the Empire would be here? They weren’t supposed to be!” That set something off in Luke, wheels turning behind his bright blue eyes as he crinkled his nose. It was a familiar expression, one that brought with it unwanted ghosts… “What _are_ you doing here, Father?”

How quickly things could turn. All at once, the boy had gone from a pouting, whining child to someone sharp and observant beyond his years. Sometimes Vader could forget how much of his mother Luke had inherited. Several cycles of his respirator passed while the suspicion grew behind the brilliant blue eyes boring into him. “The Emperor commanded it. There were rumours of an uprising. I was sent to maintain order.”

“ _Father!_ ” The whine returned to Luke’s voice, this time tinged with exasperation, and he somehow came across as a petulant child protesting some perceived injustice crossed with an authority figure reprimanding their subordinate. He was one of few beings in the galaxy who could strike that balance, and the only one who would dare try in front of Darth Vader. It was liable to land the boy in trouble, someday. “That uprising is the whole reason we came here! We hoped to use their resources to help the Alliance. How can you talk to me about the ‘success of our mission’ if you’re just going to rain terror down on every potential ally?”

And that was where Vader’s patience reached its limit. Taking a step forward, he pointed a gloved finger between his son’s eyes. “ _You_ did not inform me of your plan, young one. I had no reason to suspect the rebellion had an interest in this world.”

“Well, you didn’t tell me about yours, either,” Luke protested lamely, shrinking back a bit at the admonishment.

“That is not my responsibility.” Vader withdrew his hand and returned his arms to their folded position across his chest. “We entered our arrangement on the condition that you update me regularly on our secure channel. You have not done so in months.”

Wilting a bit, the boy suddenly refused to make eye contact, looking almost bashful. “I’m sorry, Father. I should have called.” His voice was quiet and contrite, and he seemed far smaller and younger than Vader had ever known him. “This was just… It was supposed to be _my_ mission, my first command, and I wanted to do it on my own. Getting your approval – your _help_ … It just felt like cheating. I wanted to do this for myself.”

“Son… While that is an… _admirable_ goal, I do not wish for your ambitions to interfere with… your safety. Or the future we hope to shape together.” Protecting his son was one thing. Offering comfort and reassurance was another, and it was still an entirely foreign concept to him. But Luke needed his father right now, so he put in the effort to provide whatever clumsy comfort he could. “You do not need to prove yourself to me, and you should not feel the need to prove your worth to yourself or the rebels. Simply know that what you have to offer lies far beyond the success of one lone mission.”

Doubt flickered across Luke’s youthful features, uncertainty churning as he processed the words, but he eventually softened, and a smile finally broke out across his face. “Thank you, Father. I’ll keep that in mind.” The smile remained for a moment that passed far too quickly before it faded as the boy heaved a sigh. “So. What now? How do we salvage this?”

“I cannot simply allow you to walk out of here, Luke. That would raise far too much suspicion. You could come with me…” Conflict flickered across Luke’s face as he made a noise of protest, and Vader almost snorted in response. “But I suspected that you might prefer to continue with your assignment within the rebellion. In which case… I trust the military installation on this planet will pose little in the way of opposition for you and your… _companions?_ ”

Everything about this exchange became worth it when he saw his son’s features light up, becoming absolutely _luminous_ at the suggestion, mischief casting a dim shadow over the bright eyes and face-consuming grin. “You say that as though there’s any _doubt_ about it.”

A nearly amused hum rumbled in Vader’s throat. “No. No doubt at all.”

“It was good to see you, Father.”

The words were soft, nearly imperceptible if not for his enhanced auditory processors, but Vader radiated satisfaction through the Force in response. “And you, my son.” He felt Luke beam in return, which emboldened him to make one additional remark. “Oh, and Luke? Tell your rebel friends that, should they put you in a position similar to this one in the future, I may not feel so merciful as to allow them to survive.”

Turning on his heel, the Sith Lord permitted a brief smirk to tug at his scars at the protesting cry of “Father!” that echoed from behind him. It faded before the door opened before him and shut behind him, and he turned his attention to the snivelling Palpatine loyalist cowering before him just outside the interrogation room. “Major. I am returning to my flagship. I am entrusting you with the transfer of the prisoners to its brig for continued interrogation and subsequent punishment. _Do not fail me, Major._ ” The threat was implicit in the hissing tone of his vocoder, enough to elicit a gulp from the worm he was gazing down at, and Vader would have rolled his eyes if he deemed that action worth the effort.

He didn’t even acknowledge the squeaked acknowledgement of “Yes, my lord!” that trailed behind him as he stalked off towards his shuttle. The man was an opportunist, his loyalties lying with whomever could advance his career the furthest. Men like this made the Empire _weak._ Eliminating him would serve his purposes well. Vader could not waste his time on beings who were not absolutely loyal to him.

There was far too much at stake for that.

It was hardly an hour later that news of the rebels’ escape reached him, and the look in the Major’s eyes as he struggled for breath in his final moments was _almost_ enough to make up for the fact that Luke was not here at his side, as he was meant to be.

Someday… Someday, the galaxy would be theirs, and they could share as much time together as they liked, out in the open and unashamed. He could not say he _liked_ the idea of working with the rebels, but Vader did have to concede that they would not win this war if they were simultaneously battling two adversaries. Infiltrating the rebellion to gain their trust and eventually gain them as allies had been Luke’s idea. The boy had been appalled at the existence of the Death Star and refused to listen to anything Vader had to say if its existence was allowed to continue. While it was, admittedly, a technological terror and an absolute abomination, he did not approve of his son’s plan to assist the rebels with its destruction.

Of course, he had inherited his mother’s ability to persuade – even if he had inherited his father’s eloquence – and Vader had eventually relented. The arrangement was far from ideal, and he still did not trust many of the rebels – least of all _Organa_ – but he trusted his son. Luke could be foolish, at times, and far too idealistic for his own good, but he was relentless when faced with a challenge and had the skill to accomplish the impossible. They would see this war to its conclusion, emerging as the victors, and it would be largely because of Luke.

…So long as the boy did not make getting arrested a habitual part of his plans, at least.


	4. Children of the Sand and Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Vader meet at the grave of Shmi Skywalker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter summary? literally all I had in mind for this oneshot when I started. then the characters kinda just did their own things and I have no idea if it's IC at all but I just let it roll and it ended up being like 6k words. also like... Shmi is so important, and I love the idea of her (and Tatooine) having some kind of significance in the Force. but !! let me know what you folks think!

The sandstorm swallowed up the vanishing silhouette of the _Falcon,_ once again carrying its rightful Captain on board, as it soared beyond the atmosphere. From the planet’s surface, Luke watched it go, pulling a black glove over the exposed, frayed wires of his prosthetic. A pang went through him as the sensation of the smuggler’s hand on his _lingered,_ and his voice echoed through his head. _“I’m thinking… I owe you one.”_ It hurt to have to say goodbye to Han so soon after getting him back – Luke hadn’t realized just how much he _missed him_ until they’d reunited – but they were all where they were meant to be. Han belonged on the _Falcon,_ Leia belonged with Han, they all belonged with the Rebel Fleet, and Luke…

Luke had promises to keep.

Climbing into the cockpit of his X-wing, he considered soaring back into space immediately to pay Yoda a visit to keep _that_ promise, first, but something caused him to hesitate. There was a pull through the Force, a quiet whisper hinting at him to remain here; he had a promise to keep to someone here.

It took a questioning beep from Artoo for Luke to realize he’d been flying towards the homestead without noticing he’d even taken off. For some reason, he felt drawn to the farm he hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit since he’d found it a smoking wreck four years ago. That thought sent a twinge of guilt crashing over him, and he suddenly recognized the responsibility he’d been neglecting along with the promises he’d almost forgotten he’d made to the people buried there.

“I know, buddy,” he said in response to the inquiry flashing across his readout. “We’ll join up with the fleet once I handle some… unfinished business.” The astromech sent a confirmation in response, though Luke could tell that Artoo wasn’t _entirely_ convinced. At the very least, however, he seemed to trust his pilot enough not to protest, which Luke remained silently grateful for.

A strange sort of melancholy settled on his chest as he laid eyes the rundown remains of the place he’d called home for nearly two decades. It looked the way he’d left it, just as, if not even more bare than when it had been burning. Landing just beyond the main entrance, Luke’s breath caught in his throat as he truly allowed the Force to descend upon him, echoes of pain and love and fear and care and an undefined tenderness sitting heavy and thick in the air. His aunt and uncle had loved him, had raised him, had cared for him even when they had no obligation to do so. They weren’t even blood relatives, had only met his father _once,_ but they still cared for him as though he’d been their own. They couldn’t have children of their own, true, but he’d been far too stubborn and resentful as a child to recognize the reason they were willing to accept him in the first place.

Shmi Skywalker.

After disembarking from his X-wing, Luke walked around the main dome and living pit of the homestead, stopping in front of the small, nondescript graveyard in the sand. The sandstorm had dissipated, leaving the atmosphere around him strangely still as he gazed on his grandmother’s grave, marked by a weathered slab of stone next to the makeshift headstones he’d carved for Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. It seemed fitting for them to be laid to rest next to the woman who’d linked them all. They’d known her, for a time, loved and been loved by her, and even though Luke had never known her himself, he’d always imagined that she was with him, watching over him, and loving him through his aunt and uncle.

Standing here again sent a strange blend of emotions through him. There was grief – his own – pain – a blend of his and his family’s – and… _love._ He could never have been satisfied if he’d stayed on Tatooine, but he couldn’t deny the moments of happiness he’d had here. Even through that longstanding longing for something _more_ that always plagued him, he knew he was loved. Part of him began on this world, and he would never forget that.

Then again… perhaps a part of him already had.

 _“There’s nothing for me here now,”_ he’d declared, so certain at the time. And yet, somehow, it always seemed to come back to Tatooine. He’d left this world with its bitter memories and echoes of pain, but he’d also left the people who had cared for him, burying their memories with the sand if only because that was _easier._ Not that anything had been easy since he’d left, but it was easier when he didn’t have to face the fact that he’d let them down and left them behind. He’d failed to protect them – his aunt and uncle may very well have survived, if not for him – and he’d failed to honour them.

“I’m sorry…” The words felt hollow, nearly meaningless, and his breath shuddered as he felt his next thoughts stick in his throat. What was it that he was sorry for? What could an apology possibly do to rectify the situation he found himself in? Had he ever been worthy of the love and dedication anyone had directed towards him? An insidious voice at the back of his mind whispered a definitive _‘no,’_ sealing his fate and confirming his responsibility, but a gentle brush of _something_ against his sense served to reassure him, insisting that he deserved the tenderness he felt.

A woman’s voice – indistinct but familiar – uttered kind words and soothing notions that settled any misgivings he might’ve had, and he felt his breaths slow and his heart settle. _‘You are where you are meant to be, young one,’_ the voice whispered, each word soothing and melodic as it lulled him into a gentle sense of contentment. He’d only ever known his grandmother through stories, but the voice matched how he imagined she’d sound. There was strength and resilience there, a rough quality that could only come from someone who lived as a slave on Tatooine, but there was also something far gentler than anything the desert could ever offer. It felt like the warmth of the suns first thing in the morning as their blazing light cut through the remnants of the night’s chill. It felt like the brush of a soft kiss across his cheek or forehead, or a warm embrace, a physical tenderness that spoke to affection and care. It was precisely the voice he’d matched to the woman he’d seen in the old holos from before he was born, and he felt the warmth bloom inside him at the thought.

Even if he could not shake the guilt coiling around his gut, his family _forgave him,_ and they loved him all the same. His grandmother. His aunt. Even his uncle. They all cared for him and could understand his absence. They all loved him and were grateful for his return.

 _‘Rest now, child,’_ beckoned the voice. It echoed in the back of his mind the same way he’d sensed thoughts through the Force. _‘Your duty is not yet complete, but you will not complete it tonight, and certainly not in this state.’_ The suns were sinking into the horizon, and the air was eerily calm; Luke could not say when the sandstorm had ended, but the serenity that had settled over the homestead was undeniable. _‘You will face your destiny soon, but its true burden lies beyond this horizon.’_

Exhaling slowly and closing his eyes for a moment, Luke allowed the Force to flow through him and connect him with the sand below his feet. There were people here he’d lost, but they weren’t truly gone. Not so long as he remembered them.

He allowed himself one moment longer to send his love out through the Force before it ebbed back inward and his eyelids fluttered open. Muttering a few words of respect in a language he spoke little of but knew to be passed between the slaves who’d preceded him, Luke bowed his head before turning back towards the homestead. His childhood bedroom had been ransacked and raided, much of its familiarity existing in charred and gutted forms, but it still felt like coming home. A tattered, stuffed bantha lay atop the threadbare covers he once slept on, one of the few remaining belongings he once laid claim to, and he clutched it with a distant need as he lay himself down on the familiar-yet-unfamiliar bed and drifted off to sleep far quicker than he was accustomed to.

* * *

His dreams that night seemed almost as though they were viewed through dust clouds kicked up by a sandstorm swirling all around him. The world appeared fogged and dull, and the planet he’d grown up on felt like a vague, distant memory that didn’t belong to him. It was like viewing the sands through eyes that weren’t his own. Curious, he tilted his head as he surveyed the distorted, familiar sights surrounding him.

That same voice from before cut through the fog, clearer and more distinct than it had been earlier, and this time it was accompanied by the shimmering figure of a woman who shone like she was made of light and flickered like a mirage. He had never met this woman before, that much was clear, but she was still familiar, as though he had known her all his life. He didn’t even think to ask who she was; somehow, he knew the answer to that already.

 _‘You are home, little one,’_ said the woman, brushing her fingers across his cheek. The touch was ethereal, but he could still sense the rough callouses on her fingertips and the quiet warmth she radiated. _‘The desert is a part of you, and you carry it in your soul. You are born of the sand and the sky, a child of the Force itself. So long as you remember that, I will be with you, and you will be home.’_

Home. It was a strange feeling, thinking of home. Since leaving Tatooine, _home_ had become his friends, his ship, his missions – something without definition. But… perhaps home meant something deeper after all.

Perhaps he would find home in the answers he’d longed for all his life, and he could finally feel complete.

 _‘You have questions that remain unanswered,’_ the woman continued, cupping her hands around his cheeks. _‘You have fears and trepidations you have yet to face. There are pieces of you that are yet missing. You must be patient, however. Everything will become clear soon enough, but first you must wait, and trust that the answers will reveal themselves when the time is right. You will fulfill your destiny yet.’_

Patience. Ben and Yoda had preached the same. His aunt and uncle would often bemoan his lack of it. Even in the Alliance, there were those who saw his impatience as reckless. Sitting still and waiting felt so _passive,_ and he balked at the very idea. It felt different hearing it now, though. The tenderness offered to him by this woman came with no reprimand, no suggestion that he calm himself or sit still and do _nothing._ Instead, he got the distinct impression that he was meant to continue doing what he was already doing.

“But what if I fail?” He was fully aware of the weight that sat upon his shoulders, had no illusions about what had to be done next, now that Han was safe. He did not like to think of what the galaxy might become should the worst come to pass.

 _‘You will not,’_ insisted the woman, one hand moving to his shoulder while the other brushed through his hair. She sounded so certain. _‘You are far more capable than you realize, and you are not alone.’_ The world around him, still unfocused and slightly obscured, began to fade into a quiet, warm darkness. He had no reason to fear this dark, for he could still be comforted by the Light. _‘Now rest, child, and allow me to relieve some of the burden upon your soul.’_

* * *

Luke had not slept well since Bespin, nightmares plaguing his already restless sleep, guilt and shame and anxiety twisting at his gut, sending him tossing and turning each night. He was exhausted in his mind, body and soul, and it was only through the Force and sheer stubbornness that he’d made it through each day. He could not say that there was a single night that he’d slept peacefully through the night since returning to the Alliance after Cloud City.

At least, not until tonight.

Tonight, back in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by bittersweet memories and the sting of grief, Luke had slept as soundly as he ever had. It felt almost like those nights when he’d crawl into bed with his aunt and uncle after a particularly vivid nightmare. Aunt Beru would curl around him protectively, her warmth calming his trembling form, and she would whisper-sing lullabies to soothe the terror wracking his mind. The woman in his dream – his grandmother, he was certain – had the same weathered warmth as his aunt, which wrapped around and soothed him into the deepest, most restful sleep he’d had in a _long_ time.

Stretching out on his bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Luke glanced around the room and took in just how dishevelled it really was. Scorch marks dotted the walls, his old model Skyhopper lay in melted, misshapen pieces on the floor, and a thick layer of dust coated every surface in the room. Still, even with all the chaos and the painful reminders of his loss, that sense of warmth and comfort persisted. He marvelled at how rejuvenated he felt. Rescuing Han lifted a huge weight off his shoulders, and finally getting something resembling a _good night’s sleep_ left him feeling content.

So content, in fact, that he almost missed the icy presence nipping at the edges of his mind.

Sitting up stock straight, Luke’s eyes blew wide as he slammed down his shields, hoping that _presence_ hadn’t noticed he was awake yet so he could make a quiet escape during its distraction. The insistent prod at his mind told him otherwise, though, and even without hearing the precise words, Luke knew that he would find little success in any escape attempts.

With a heavy sigh, he opened up his shields just a touch and stretched out to the dark, suffocating supernova that was _Darth Vader,_ if only so he could figure out just where the man was and then… well. He’d _like_ to avoid him. But perhaps he was better off just going to him. When he determined just where the Empire’s second in command was, Luke did a double take.

_The graves._

In retrospect, he shouldn’t be _that_ surprised. If Vader was who he said he was, he had just as much reason to mourn there as Luke did. But part of him still wrestled with denial, still longed for the awful truth he’d carried for months to be a lie, a trick, a deception. Another, traitorous part of him, though, yearned for it to be true, longing for the hint of _good_ he could swear he detected in the man to be real. It was that part of him that set his feet moving out of his bedroom and beyond the main entry dome. He passed by Artoo – who remained in shutdown mode, getting some well-deserved recuperation after the ordeal at Jabba’s palace – and headed off towards the four small, unassuming graves that lay beyond the living pit.

Against the empty backdrop of the Great Chott salt flat, Darth Vader’s looming figure seemed simultaneously larger than ever while appearing to be swallowed up by the endless sands. The steady rasp of the respirator echoed loud and ominous in the heavy silence, and Luke imagined his voice would boom even more imperiously here than usual.

Vader did not turn to face Luke, did not utter a word, but his shoulders stiffened, slightly, as the only real indication that he sensed his presence. Luke took that as an invitation to speak first. “How did you know I was here?”

While he still didn’t turn, Vader’s helmet inclined ever so slightly, and Luke got the strangest impression of amusement and triumph blended with grief, disappointment and anger. “You were unwise to linger.” Luke was right. His voice _did_ boom much louder than normal. Still, the amusement and triumph won out in his tone – as much as they could, with the vocoder – and Luke couldn’t help but feel a bit like when Uncle Owen would chastise him after any of his escapades. It took everything he had not to wither sheepishly in response. “You surely did not believe that I would not notice the ripples you sent through the Force upon the completion of your lightsaber? Or that word would not reach me of your assault on Jabba’s palace?” Finally, Vader turned to face him, and Luke could _swear_ he could see what might pass for a wry, smug smirk emanating from behind that mask. “You are not _nearly_ as subtle as you think you are, my son.”

Luke did not acknowledge the form of address, did not want to consider the _implications_ of doing so, opting instead to go for what some might call _bull-headed stupidity_. “I wasn’t aiming for subtlety, exactly. Just results. That’s what I got.”

For a long, silent moment, Vader remained motionless, his gaze boring into Luke with enough intensity to make him wonder if that was the wrong thing to say. Finally, the vocoder crackled with what had to be its interpretation of a sigh as Vader shook his head and turned back to face the worn headstones. “You are… far more your parents’ child than you realize.”

The gasp that escaped him was sharp and short and involuntary, and his legs seemed to move of their own accord as he took several steps forward, narrowing the chasm that lay between them if only by a fraction. Following the gasp came a choked noise that may or may not have been an attempt at speaking, and Luke found himself skidding to a halt when he finally realized he’d been reaching out, hoping to grasp at some semblance of the life he’d dreamed of for so many years. He remained frozen in place for a split second before he withdrew his hand with a jerking motion and took a single step backwards, hoping Vader hadn’t noticed.

If he had, it was not clear, but after a brief pause, he spoke again. “I suppose I cannot blame you for returning.” It did not seem possible for words to sound so tender in that rumbling basso designed to strike fear into the hearts of sentients, but it was tempered by a blend of emotions unexpected for a Dark Lord. “She would have loved to know you. She would be proud of the man you’ve become.”

Stretching out along the bond, slowly, carefully, Luke reached for his father’s emotions, picking out, among the typical rage and hatred, echoes of grief, guilt and shame. “So what about you? She… she wouldn’t be proud of you, would she?”

The bond slammed shut with such force that Luke was left staggering, Vader’s towering rage flaring and sending what felt like crystals of ice skittering along it. _That_ had been the wrong thing to say. The cape flared as its wearer whirled around and stalked forward, pointing a gloved finger in the face of the figure who had put him in this mood to begin with. Luke shrunk back and had to fight not to flinch as Vader’s voice regained its typical rage – a far cry from the tenderness it possessed just moments before. “Mind what you say, child. You know _nothing._ You know nothing of who I am, and you know nothing of who she was. Do not speak on matters you do not understand.”

It took a moment for Luke to regain his composure, trying to shake the persistent feeling of being reprimanded by Uncle Owen after crashing his Skyhopper one too many times, but once he did, he tapped into his own brand of anger. It flared within him, feeling hot where his father’s felt cold, a flame that sparked and burned in his belly but eventually burned itself out, contrasting the perpetual icy layer that lived over his father’s. Flaring his nostrils, he drew himself up to his full – though admittedly _unimpressive_ – height, jutting out his jaw defiantly and boring his gaze into where he somehow _knew_ his father’s eyes were. “I know more than you think. I _understand_ more than you think. I may never have met her, but I _knew_ grandmother Shmi. I knew her through the stories my aunt and uncle – _my family_ told me. I knew her through the legends passed down through the generations. I knew her through the words shared by the slaves – freed, escaped and captive alike – and I knew her through…” Luke paused, considering all those feelings he’d had as a child, that warm presence that always seemed to soothe his aches and settle his soul on those days he felt truly restless. He’d always imagined he had a guardian angel, and he supposed he did, in a sense, through Ben. But he could also feel someone _else,_ someone more gentle and parental, and it was only now that he realized just what it was. “I knew her through the Force.”

Several cycles of Vader’s respirator echoed over the barren dunes as he hooked his thumbs through his belt but remained stock still otherwise. “These people,” he spat, pointing his helmet towards the graves of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, “did not deserve you. _Either_ of you,” he added, glancing at the stone etched with the name _Cliegg Lars._

It was all Luke could do not to roll his eyes and groan in exasperation. He barely managed to restrain himself, but a hint of his irritation still worked its way into his voice. “And you do? They were good people. They were honest. Hard-working. Kind. I learned duty and diligence from them. I learned compassion and honour. I learned to love, and I learned to care.”

“They kept you _here,_ ” Vader snapped, pure disdain dripping from his voice. “They held you prisoner on this Force-forsaken world, keeping you from your true destiny.”

“It wasn’t an easy life. And I spent most of my time here wanting to leave. But I wouldn’t change it. Not for anything. I know who I am. I know where I came from. And… I know who Anakin Skywalker was.”

“ _That name_ no longer has any meaning for me.” Luke could hear something strange in his father’s voice that he was sure Vader did not notice. Clearly, he was working to convince Luke this was the truth, but there was an edge that hinted he might also be trying to convince _himself._

That was Luke’s cue to press on. Eyes still locked on his father’s, he took a single step forward and allowed a shade of _pleading_ to enter his voice. “ _My father’s_ name is Anakin Skywalker. That woman buried there – the one you’re mourning – her name is Shmi _Skywalker._ If _that name_ has no meaning for you, how can you claim either of _us_ mean anything to you?” Vader did not move, but the bond opened up just a touch, and an ancient, deeply rooted ache bled across it. Luke continued. “It’s the name of your _true self,_ you’ve only forgotten! Search your feelings, Father. Don’t you want to be free? Grandmother was a slave. Anakin Skywalker was a slave. And I truly believe that Darth Vader is still a – ”

“ _Enough!_ ” That single word roared loud enough to rattle Luke’s insides, and he was sure half the desert heard or felt its echo. Vader closed any gap between them and yanked on Luke’s collar, eliciting a small yelp as he was tugged forward. Despite the heat of the suns, he found himself shivering as a dark, heavy cold descended upon him. The death mask loomed far closer to his face than was comfortable, but Luke refused to cower. “Idiot boy. Do you think I do not know my own past? Do you believe I could _so easily_ forget the life I once lived? _Anakin Skywalker_ was a fool who allowed himself to be ruled by his fear rather than controlling it. He could find no strength in his pain, and he was far too easily swayed by notions as frivolous as _love._ I have not _forgotten_ who I was, in that time, or what I endured, but in that life, I was _weak._ In this galaxy, only the strong survive.” As he spoke, his grip on Luke’s collar tightened, causing his next few breaths to come out in gasps. Vader seemed to notice, releasing the tunic as he flinched backwards. The Force went quiet again as he withdrew back into himself, allowing silence to ring out across the dunes before speaking again. “I… would not see you fall prey to that same weakness.”

Rubbing at his collar, Luke let out a shaky breath. “Weakness?” It took genuine effort to keep the hurt out of his voice and remain collected, but he somehow managed it and carried on. “I have pain, and I have fear… but I also have love and hope and compassion, and I don’t think any of those things make me weak.” Finally turning away from his father, he walked towards the graves and knelt in the sand. Idly, he dragged his fingers across the weathered stone, tracing the name _Skywalker_ with delicate reverence. “It’s true, I never met her. But I still feel like I knew her. The woman I know as my grandmother was the strongest person I could imagine. A slave forced to say goodbye to her nine-year-old son, remaining in servitude just so he could have a chance at freedom. A woman who believed in love, who believed that the galaxy could be a better place if only we did a little more for each other. I don’t believe that strength and weakness are as clear-cut as you make them. Maybe I’m not as strong as I… could be. But I’ve always tried to do right by my grandmother, and I know that she wasn’t weak.”

Behind him – _looming,_ as was typical – Vader remained motionless, his gaze boring into the back of Luke’s skull before sweeping across the stones. Softly, in a quiet rumble that nearly blended with the wind, he uttered a few words in that ancient slaves’ tongue. _May you find freedom in the rest that has returned you to the sands from which you were forged._ Vader did not kneel beside his son, but when Luke glanced up, he found his father standing over him, helmet bowed towards the sands.

The mourning words had a response, one Luke had to search his memories for, but when he found it, the words flowed forth in a trickling stream the likes of which could never exist on Tatooine. _The suns and the stars and the sky will watch over you. They will welcome your soul when it arrives._

A heavy, gloved hand settled on his shoulder and guided him to his feet. It wasn’t until he turned and saw his reflection in the eyeplates staring intently at him that Luke realized he’d started crying. “She loved you, you know.” The words were whispered, his voice was cracking, but he did not care. “More than anything. Uncle Owen wouldn’t talk about you at all. He talked about grandmother, but never you. Aunt Beru, though… Sometimes, when she spoke about grandmother, she would tell me the things she’d heard about you, from her, how she was endlessly proud of you, how she loved you even in your absence. She would speak of your courage, your skill, your resilience. The picture of you I’d painted in my head, as a kid… it came from _her._ ”

Vader withdrew his hand from Luke’s shoulder and turned away from him. His presence in the Force was still shuttered, despite Luke’s prods at their bond, and he stood in silence. Vader, it seemed, had several brands of silence, ones that could be dangerous and hinted at brewing storms, or ones that stemmed from indifference or disappointment, but this one… Luke could _almost_ sense some form of regret in this one.

“Come with me, Father,” he said, stepping forward and allowing himself to reach out. “There was good in you once, and there is good in you, still. _Come with me,_ and we can make things right. Together.” He settled his own gloved fingers on a broad, armoured shoulder, which instantly stiffened at the contact.

“I – I cannot.” Something akin to remorse rang through the Force, and though he did not believe that Vader was truly considering his offer, a sense of ‘what if’ hovered in the air. “You do not know what you ask of me. I _must_ obey my master…”

That final word hung between the two of them, suspended in an almost mocking fashion, its implications weighing heavy over them both. _Master._ For the truly benevolent, that word simply meant one who had an apprentice – one they trained in the art they _themselves_ had mastered – but, to a Skywalker, that word meant far more. Neither father nor son mentioned as much, but the notion was clear as the bright blue sky above them. Luke had been correct in his earlier assertion about Vader: he still served a master, and not the benevolent sort.

Suspecting that his father agreed, Luke did not say any more on the matter. That would be _counterproductive._ Instead, he withdrew his hand and shifted to stand before him. His eyes settled on the mask, and a quick probe beyond it revealed that Vader was avoiding his son’s gaze, using the mask as the barrier between them it was meant to be. For some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, Luke found himself reaching out that same gloved hand to brush against the sculpted plasteel that hid his father’s face from him, perhaps hoping to imitate some level of the connection he could sense they both desperately longed for. The gentle contact brought with it a tenderness that Luke craved for himself and readily offered to those around him.

He did his best to ignore the utter _absurdity_ that he was offering that tenderness to _Darth Vader,_ of all people, and instead relish the moment for what it was. After all, it was a tenderness that he suspected Vader had never experienced, and perhaps even Anakin had sorely lacked.

The moment _shifted,_ however, and panic flared within Luke as he felt a durasteel grip close around his right wrist. Had he misread his father? Was his tenderness to be repaid with cruelty as he was dragged off-world and thrown at the Emperor’s feet? Eyes wild, he tugged at the grip and flinched backwards, working to wrest himself free. Vader’s grip only tightened, however, drawing a strangled noise of protest from Luke.

He did not find himself being pulled across the sands, however. Instead, he felt his hand twist back and forth in Vader’s grip. The glove covering the prosthetic was pulled away, and the frayed wires were traced with a care that seemed utterly alien for the Sith Lord. Luke almost expected some comment to be made about it, but that silence persisted, and he resigned himself to his father’s touch. He couldn’t say how much time passed, but it was long enough that his breathing seemed to fall in sync with the hissing respirator, which in turn fell in time with the winds and shifting sands around them. The gentle care persisted, however, and when the glove was finally pulled back over the damaged synthskin and the grip released, an odd reluctance seemed to accompany it.

“I… will not _force you_ to join me, Luke.” Pain had made its way into the words, betrayed by the Force even when the vocoder revealed nothing. “I cannot do that to you _here,_ of all places.” Though he did not say the words outright, Luke knew precisely what he meant: Vader would not bring his son into a life of slavery at the resting place of his slave mother. Decades of regret weighed on his shoulders, and this was not something that Vader would add to that burden. “You deserve the opportunity to choose your path, of your own free will – an opportunity I was never given. You may leave, if you wish, and return to your… _friends,_ ” he said, disdain from seeping into his voice at that word, “with the understanding that next time we meet may not be under such… _pleasant_ circumstances. Or, if you _wish…_ you could accompany me off-world, and we could… further discuss the future elsewhere.”

His father still avoided looking at him, as though laying eyes on Luke would burn them in the same manner as staring straight into the suns, but he radiated longing and a resignation that his son would leave him once again. Something flared in the Force, bright and warm and inviting, but Vader emanated a sense of alarm at its rise. Luke could not stem the flood of hope that washed over him, and he did not dare to think it for fear of tempting fate, but for the first time in his life, it seemed possible, in some sense, that he might just get what he always wanted.

That meant leaving Han and Leia. It had been hard enough saying goodbye to Han when he thought their separation following their reunion would only be brief, and he could not bear to think what it would do to Leia to lose one friend so close to regaining the other. But that same gentle voice from before whispered assurances in his ear, insisting that it would be temporary, and he had a chance to set right what once went wrong.

Smiling gently, Luke gripped his father’s arm, his flesh hand unknowingly tracing where prosthetic joined the remains of Vader’s own flesh. The compassion and assurance he sent along their bond was deliberate, though. “I… will come with you, Father.” Once again, triumph flared across the bond, which had opened itself back up to both of them, and a sudden understanding rippled through the Force. Luke would come willingly. He would not turn – Luke Skywalker could not serve the Dark Side – but that was not what mattered now. What mattered was that he would stand by his father’s side and they could redefine their destiny on their own terms.

Tatooine was a strange world. Aunt Beru used to tell him that the desert was a mysterious place, harsh and fickle, but filled with secrets she revealed to only her most trusted children. As a boy, he’d always taken that for granted, believing it to just be another one of his aunt’s folk tales. But now, standing with his father before the graves of his family, he finally understood. For so long, this world had meant nothing but pain to his father; that truth rang through in resentment over their bond. It seemed, though, _at last,_ a portion of that pain had been soothed.

Luke did not believe that the pain would heal entirely, nor that his father would ever forgive himself. Certainly, he would never love Tatooine, by any means. But, perhaps, he could find some reconciliation with himself. The Force sung its approval, and Luke allowed the sense of satisfaction to flicker back and forth between himself and his father. They were, the two of them, children of the sand and sky, the deserts’ favoured sons, and, together, they could relieve some of the burdens upon their souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vader is probably OOC bc he's more tactful with Luke here than he is with anyone in canon at all ever. but then Luke and Dad go off to Mustafar or something and Luke stays Light and they overthrow Palps and then they all live happily ever after? who knows but I do know that the love of Shmi Skywalker can save the galaxy...


	5. Holographic Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why do you have a picture of me?" for Luke and Vader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from an ask prompt on tumblr! set in the same vague AU as the third oneshot in this collection, in which vader somehow uses luke to work with the rebellion to bring down palpatine. I still have very few details worked out in this verse but it seemed to fit best with what I wanted to do, so, enjoy!

His father was  _angry._  That, in and of itself, was not unusual – his father was almost  _always_  angry, after all – but his anger felt different, this time. He was angry  _at Luke._  Now, of course, that was  _also_  not the  _most unusual_ of circumstances. The two of them had  _very_  different opinions on what was considered ‘proper behaviour,’ and as such his actions tended to put his father into something of a foul mood more often than not. But that usually manifested in something more like  _annoyance_  than genuine anger. This…

This felt far closer to the type of rage that rolled off his father before he strangled someone.

He had never been strangled by his father – who  _claimed_  he would never hurt him, which Luke tended to believe, most days. In this moment, though, faced with the full weight of Vader’s rage bearing down on him, he was beginning to have his doubts.

“What’s the matter, Father? Aren’t you happy to see me? I made the rendezvous in time and everything!” Luke was  _fully aware_  that Vader would not appreciate the flippancy, but the alternative was to display his fear, and he refused to do that in front of his father.

As expected, Vader remained unmoved. Crossing his arms, he inclined his helmet to look at Luke directly. “Do not expect me to be  _impressed_  when you have done what is  _expected_  of you, boy.”  _Boy._  Not  _son,_  or  _my son,_  or  _child_  – or even  _Luke._  No. He’d said  _boy._  Vader was angry indeed. Several moments passed, Luke not daring speak before his father elaborated. “You have been investigating matters you have  _no business_  looking into.”

The fear he’d been working so hard to conceal flared up and Luke let out an involuntary gasp. There was no sense in trying to lie to his father, but he’d  _really_  been hoping that Vader hadn’t discovered his particular line of inquiry just yet. “I – ”

“ _Why_  do you have  _this holocron?”_  he hissed, waving his hand and summoning the crystalline cube from his son’s bag. Leather creaked as Vader tightened his grip on the holocron, and Luke worried he would crush it in his hand. Swallowing thickly past the lump forming in his throat, Luke felt his eyes widen and he took a single step back as Vader advanced on him. “Answer me!”  


“How – how did you know I had that?”  


“Do not believe that you are my  _only_  source within the rebellion,  _boy._ ” There it was again.  _Boy._  The tone made Luke’s blood run cold. “You did not answer my question.  


Steeling his resolve and deciding  _not_  to cower before the so-called  _Fist of the Empire_ , Luke tamed his wild expression and set his brows into a scowl, crossing his own arms across his chest in a poor imitation of his father’s previous stance. “Well, what did you expect? The name  _Skywalker_  isn’t exactly  _obscure._  People were offering me answers, I wasn’t about to turn them down! Besides, y _ou’re_  not exactly forthcoming about your past.”

A noise that sounded something like a  _growl_  rumbled out of Vader’s vocoder, and his voice was low and dangerous when he spoke next. “ _The past_  is best left where it belongs, boy. Let it remain  _buried_. If you cannot leave well enough alone, I will recall you from your mission and punish you accordingly.”

“Father!” Luke took a step forward as Vader began to turn on his heel, apparently angry enough that he didn’t even want to hear Luke’s report. He caught his father’s arm, and instantly he reeled back as Vader whirled around sharply to face him.  


“ _Do not_  – ”  


“No, Father, it’s my past too – my  _history._ I have  _every right_  to know.” Luke could feel his own anger and frustration rising in his chest, bubbling in his stomach, washing over him and tensing his muscles. “I’m not going to leave it up to you which parts of my life I get to know about. Stars, I had to find out my  _own mother’s name_  from  _Ahsoka –_ ” He instantly clamped his mouth shut, teeth clicking together, and his eyes blew wide as he realized he made a mistake.

“ _Ahsoka Tano…_ ” 

“Father, please, don’t, just leave her –”

“I presume she’s the one who gave you  _this?_ ”

Luke remained quiet for a few moments, debating the merits of lying or refusing to answer before finally sighing and deciding that he was best off telling the truth. “She was. She… always speaks so highly of her former master, about how much she learned from him, admired him… How skilled he was. How – how  _kind._ ” He couldn’t bring himself to meet his father’s gaze. “She really looked up to you, you know.” 

Several cycles of the respirator echoed between them before either father or son moved or spoke again. Luke wondered, vaguely, if they might stay this way forever, in some state of perpetual limbo, but a tingling warning in the Force caused him to snap his head up and catch the holocron that sailed back into his hands. “I was… unaware that she was working with the rebellion.”

“She serves as a Fulcrum agent.” Luke let a soft chuckle spill out past his lips. “You should have seen her face when I told her my name. Though, I suppose it was a little sad, now that I think about it… Almost like she’d seen a ghost.”

“Is she… aware of our connection?” Vader’s rage had subsided, but his shields were up and impenetrable; Luke had no idea what was going through his father’s mind, and that question really didn’t clear anything up either.

“No. As far as the Alliance is concerned, you’re still just ‘my source in the Empire.’ Nobody suspects a thing.” He was grateful for that, too. He felt bad for lying, but he knew Leia would never forgive him if she found out, at least while they were still at war. “Ahsoka gave me the holocron because… heh, she wanted me to be able to  _learn something_  from you. I wasn’t about to correct her. But… everyone always says how much I ‘look like my father,’ and I just – I donno, wanted to see it for myself?”  


His father remained silent and still, looking for all the world like a statue, the constant hiss of his breathing the only indication that he was indeed a living, breathing being. 

Faced with the lack of response, Luke plowed forward. “I don’t see it, you know. I mean… yeah, I have the same blond hair, the same chin, the same eyes… but I don’t see myself in the man in that holocron. I don’t – I hold myself differently, move differently… I feel like I resemble that man as much as I resemble you now.”

“Ahsoka spoke of Padmé?” The words came out slow and deliberate, bearing a pain that was alien in the modulated voice.  


“She did. I was able to find a holo of her, too – just an image, but… she was beautiful. I don’t think I look very much like her at all, either.” It hurt to admit, but there were times when all he felt between himself and his parents was an enormous, yawning chasm. He breathed out his next words in a voice that was hardly audible.“Leia looks more like her than I do…”  


“You resemble her far more than you realize, my son.” The pain was deepening, the words spoken with more effort, but Luke felt a flutter of…  _something_  ripple through him as his father carried on. “You have her nose. Her stature. More than just her looks. She shared your… passion for justice. Your sense of morals and integrity. And you have both… given me a…  _purpose…_  beyond what…  _others_  might ask –  _demand_  of me.”  


Any other being in the galaxy saying those exact same words would sound cold, uncaring, unkind, but coming from Vader… It was the peak of warmth, care and affection. Luke felt a smile bloom across his face, and though he did not say the words out loud, he sent his sentiment out along their bond –  _I love you too, Father._

Vader stiffened slightly, acknowledging the thought not with words, but a general feeling of affirmation before relaxing again. “Very well. You may… keep the holocron. And I will  _not_  recall you from your mission. But I  _will_  ask that you keep any conversation about…  _the past_  to a minimum with others. Do so and I  _may_  concede to… discuss  _certain matters_  – ones of  _my own choosing_  – with you further myself. Am I understood?”

At this point, Luke couldn’t help it – he was positively  _beaming._  Nodding vigourously, he snapped off a salute. “Perfectly, sir!” The image of rolling eyes flickered briefly in his mind’s eye, which only caused his grin to grow even wider.

“Now,” his father continued, steering them away from sentimentality and back into the comfort of  _business,_  “I’ll have your report and we can be on our way.”  


Rattling off the report felt mechanic and insincere to Luke, after what he’d just shared with his father, but he knew they had to be quick so as not to raise too much suspicion. He did feel a twinge of reluctance as they said their goodbyes – from him and his father both – but Vader did manage to surprise him one last time before they went their separate ways.

For the briefest of moments, a flash of affection danced along their bond. He felt it for him, but he also felt it for  _Ahsoka._  Along with that, the word ‘Snips’ flickered briefly, attached to Ahsoka, before the bond shuttered and Vader withdrew into the unreadable stone wall he typically was. Still, as he greeted Artoo and climbed into his X-Wing, Luke couldn’t help but feel that Anakin Skywalker wasn’t  _nearly_  as dead as his father claimed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're curious, my original tags on this were:  
> #I cheated a bit and didn't use the quote exactly #since vader ain't gonna admit anakin is him #but usually i see it done with stalker vader having a pic of luke #which is valid and hilarious #but also i wanted to do smth different #SO. we have THIS instead. #every verse where vader has luke #for any stretch of time #he's softer bc the boy does that #tho this is probably vader's like #'niceness quota' for the rest of the year KASDKH


	6. Tumblr Prompts #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of a few ficlets originally posted on [my tumblr.](https://zoryany.tumblr.com/) Part 1, because I'm sure there will be more in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ficlets in this little compilation are from a prompt where someone would send the first sentence of a ficlet and the receiver would write the next five. I only stuck to the five sentence thing for one of them...
> 
> AU, if applicable, will be stated in bold before the ficlet, and the prompt sentence will be italicized. If you're interested in checking out the blogs of the original senders, you can find the original prompts in [THIS TAG](https://zoryany.tumblr.com/tagged/first-sentence-prompt) on my blog !!

**Canon-ish.**

_Vader’s galaxy shifted on its axis, and suddenly there was a bright, bright soul at the centre of it._

In an instant, nothing else mattered – not the Death Star, not the Rebels, not even the Empire or his master himself; nothing mattered to him beyond the existence of  _the boy_  whose tiny, holographic form brazenly declared  _“I’m Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you!”_

For far too many years, he and the boy both had been  _lied to,_  deceived and manipulated to serve the purposes of those who would seek to  _control_  them.

In time, he would personally see to the suffering of all who had kept them apart, but there were far more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

His first priority had to be securing the boy – he could  _not_  be permitted to leave the station.

Then, once his son was firmly within his grasp, he could begin to reconcile the fundamental shift to his existence and the radiant being that now resided in its core.

* * *

**AU - Imperial Prince Luke**

_"Father, if you ever had any love for my mother, please just listen to me," Luke urged, grasping the edge of Vader's cape in desperation as he turned away._

“Do not –”

Vader’s rage flared, as expected, but Luke was not about to let his father work himself into a state before he heard what he had to say.

“He lied.”

“What?”

“The Emperor. He said you killed her, that she died in childbirth due to injuries caused by you. He  _lied._ ” That was the easy part of his news; with a slow, steadying breath, Luke prepared to share the difficult parts – all of them – before his father’s patience truly ran out. “She’s alive.”

“ _What?_ ”

A storm was brewing around Vader, the maelstrom imminent, but Luke ploughed on ahead before it had the chance to fully manifest. “I know you don’t like the Organas, I know you’re not happy about me meeting with the Princess, and believe me, she was none too happy to meet with me either. She made it perfectly clear that the only reason she was willing to do so in the first place was because she was assured of my integrity by someone she trusted implicitly. Someone who vouched for us both – Padmé Naberrie.”

Silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic hiss of the respirator. Clenched fists. Disbelief.  _Rage._

Luke ignored it all. “The Princess said that Padmé just wanted her family to be together – her husband, her son, and –” This was the  _really_  hard part. Silently, he urged his father to listen to the Force. “– and her  _daughter._  You, me, Mother and…  _Leia._  My twin sister.”

Vader’s silence persisted, but his hands relaxed, a touch, and the rage was dimmed.

“She survived,” Luke breathed, tears welling in his eyes, “and she’s on Alderaan.”

His father was silent for a few moments more, and while the storm had dissipated completely, a great weight settled over the air instead. “Son… if what you say is true…” And his father suspected it was, he could tell. “Then you and I will have to plan our next moves  _very carefully.”_

* * *

**Canon-ish / canon-divergent**

_The inquisitor grabbed Luke's chin and forced him to look at her and said to him, "If you won’t obey me, I am sure Lord Vader will teach you obedience."_  

He’d been glaring up at her, in spite of the stun cuffs encircling his wrists and the broken leg that was complicating his possibility of escape, but try as he might to maintain that reistance, it faltered at the mention of  _Vader._  Ice ran through his veins and anger flashed hot in his chest. Facing his father’s murderer had always been an inevitability, but he was nowhere near ready for that yet -- hell, he wasn’t even ready to face this  _inquisitor._

There was no way he was going down without a fight, though. Mustering up his resolve once more, he set his expression into another truculent glare. Sharp nails bit into his skin as the inquisitor tightened her grip and brought her face right up to his. “Do not think you can fool me with this defiant act. I can  _taste_  your fear.”

“Go to hell.”

Pain blossomed across his cheek as she retaliated with a backhand, and Luke cried out as he stumbled onto his bad leg. Grabbing his hair, the woman dragged him back into an upright kneeling position and shot a venomous glare at him. “He’ll have to teach you some  _manners,_  as well.”

“He won’t be teaching me  _anything,_ ” Luke ground out, gritting his teeth against the throbbing ache in his leg.

“You speak as though you have a  _choice_  in the matter, boy.”

The inquisitor’s expression morphed into a sharp-toothed grin, and she released her grip on his hair, stepping asid. Luke slumped down, barely registering the weight he was putting on his fractured leg again and doing all he could to keep the fear out of his eyes.

“His lightsaber, My Lord.” Luke let out a choked noise of protest as the inquisitor placed his father’s lightsaber into the hands of his father’s killer, but neither of his captors noticed. “I’m sure you’ll have fun breaking this one. He’s willful and stubborn, but they all break in the end.” She paused. Her grin widened. “Or they die.”

Vader wasn’t paying attention, though; he was too busy examining the hilt he’d been handed. “ _Where_  did you get this lightsaber?”

Faltering slightly at the dissonance between the heat in those words and the chill that permeated the air, Luke found his voice caught in his throat. A voice in the back of his mind -- distant yet insistent -- urged him not to answer. Unfortunately, it was drowned out by the very real boom of Vader’s vocoder. “ _Answer me!_ ”

“It was my father’s!” The words tumbled out of his mouth unbidden, and his eyes blew wide at the pressure that descended upon him at the revelation. 

In an instant, Vader was in front of him, closing an iron grip over his chin. Luke would grumble at having his face grasped again if he wasn’t so focused on biting back the gasp at just how  _suffocating_  the Dark Lord’s presence was.

“ _What is your name?_ “ The words rumbled through the air, vibrating through his very soul.

Once again, that same voice from before urged Luke not to answer, all but begging him to remain silent, insisting that revealing the truth would only put him in danger. Once again, he could not stop the words from spilling forth. “My name is Luke Skywalker.”

Vader froze, tightening his grip on Luke’s chin so much that he was sure it would leave bruises. From a few feet to his right, the inquisitor made a noise almost like a scoff, but any disparaging comment that may have followed it was cut short by a brief gagging sound and the thump of her body falling to the ground. Vader’s grip shifted to rest below his chin, tilting Luke’s head up and fixing his masked gaze on him as though he were searching for something in his features. Though the hold on him had relaxed, Luke was far too stunned -- both from the inquisitor’s sudden death and Vader’s abrupt shift in attitude -- to pull away.

“You and I,” Vader said, tone softer, more careful, “have much to discuss, young one.”

* * *

**AU - Emperor Vader**

_His father had been meditating for hours now, just sitting there unmoving, so this was his best chance to quickly slip past him and - “Where do you think you’re going?” Vader inquired mildly._

Luke froze in his tracks, plastered his most innocent expression over his features, and turned to face his father. “Why, Father, I’m not going anywhere of importance, really – you  _know_  I know better than to stray beyond the walls of the Palace.”

Vader hummed, sending a rumble echoing through the chamber. “Do not lie to me, my son,” he replied, decidedly less mildly. “If that were truly the case, you would not feel the need to  _sneak about_.”

Wincing, Luke sighed and allowed the innocence on his face to morph into contrition. “I wasn’t  _lying,_  Father, not  _really_. Just… not exactly telling the whole truth.” His father had risen, at this point, and was…  _looming_  in that way of his, the way that emanated less of a paternal air and more of a  _ruler of the known universe_  air. No words were necessary to spur the boy into speaking again, just the folding of armoured arms across his chest. “Okay,  _fine,_  I was headed out into the Palace gardens. And before you say anything, yes,  _I know_  there are people there – that’s why I like going. The most fascinating people spend time in the gardens, and sometimes I just like to…  _watch them_  – while hidden, of course.” 

Physically and in the Force, he meant, drawing on the first technique his father had trained him in. It was essential for the child to be hidden, he’d explained, because for the galaxy to discover its Emperor had offspring, they  _would_  be exploited for political gain or used as leverage against him. Vader had only ever wanted Luke to be safe, so that meant remaining concealed. He could use the Force to go unnoticed by those around him, which allowed him to accompany his father to important Senate meetings, in order to learn about the inner workings of their Empire.

But, stubborn and overprotective as he was, Vader was not fond of his son using this technique outside of his presence. He stood still, for a long moment, seemingly considering the request and any consequences it might have. As much as he wanted his son to be safe, Luke  _was_  sixteen years old. Denying him too many freedoms would push him to rebellion, no matter how loyal the boy truly was.

Finally lowering his arms, Vader sighed in acquiescence. “Very well. I am trusting you to remain hidden. You have one hour, while I complete my meditations, then I expect you to return so we can continue your training.”

Elation welled in Luke’s chest, and he grinned, wide and radiant, at his father. “Yes, sir!” he chirped, shooting off a mock salute before bounding towards the door. Through the Force, he sent a quiet  _Thank you, Father,_  and slipped down the corridor towards the gardens.

Despite his joy at his limited freedom, Luke suppressed a pang of guilt. He still hadn’t  _quite_  told his father the truth about his trip to the gardens. Yes, plenty of fascinating people spent time there,  yes, he enjoyed watching them, thoroughly, and yes, he would keep himself hidden. The catch was, there was a single soul he could never quite seem to keep himself hidden from, a girl he’d met when he was twelve years old and slipped out of his rooms to explore while his father ran the Senate – Princess Leia Organa.

So, yes, Luke had still concealed his true intentions from his father, but – from a  _certain_  point of view – he  _had_  told him the truth. 

Since their first meeting, when the Princess had detected him even through his impeccable shields, they would meet up every so often, when she was on Coruscant for either her father’s or her own duties. These meetings were the only secret Luke kept from his father. They were the only things in his life that were his and his alone, the only interactions he had beyond droids, Noghri and his father, and Vader’s distaste for Organa would certainly lead to him cutting off contact, should he ever find out.

 All children had secrets from their parents; Luke’s parent just so happened to be the most powerful man in the galaxy, with whom he shared a bond that made keeping secrets incredibly difficult. But he felt entitled to this one. He was loyal and obedient in everything else, and he would have been in this, too, if not for the simple fact that he felt  _drawn_  to Leia and could not bring himself to let her go.

* * *

**Canon-ish / canon divergent**

_Luke was hidden, heavy steps landing closer towards him. His friends had promised to come and pick him up, so where were they?_

_Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me,_  he thought desperately as the footfalls of the stormtroopers rapidly approached his hiding spot… and mercifully continued past it. 

“C’mon, you guys,” he muttered under his breath. “Where  _are_  you?” 

Unfortunately, his luck had a funny way of shifting nearly instantly, and while it usually worked in his favour, it seemed that it had finally run out. One moment, he’d desperately hoping his friends would show up and take him out of here; the next, he was desperately hoping they were  _far away_  from here. Darth Vader’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker, echoing against the walls and reverberating through his body. As much as Luke dreaded facing the Dark Lord himself, he wanted his friends to be caught in the crossfire even less.

“Skywalker.” Luke winced. Vader really was here for him.  _Blast!_  “We know you are hiding within this facility. The building is surrounded by the Empire’s best troops. They have been ordered to stand down, but rest assured, adept as you have been at avoiding them thus far, there is no escape, and we  _will_  find you.”

“Wanna bet?” Luke breathed, not fully believing himself but refusing to accept defeat so easily.

“I am not, however, without reason,” Vader continued, eliciting an eye roll from Luke. “Your friends are in the custody of my troops.”  _No…_  “I give you my word that they will come to no harm should you willingly turn yourself in.” Somehow, Luke doubted that – but Vader wasn’t done. “My sole interest is your apprehension, and I assure you, should you be taken in by force, it will be  _much_  less…  _pleasant_  than if you comply. Hand yourself over, and your friends will be released and allowed to leave this planet unimpeded; resist, and I cannot guarantee their fates. You have one hour to make your decision before we resume our pursuit.”

Silence descended over the lab, leaving a ringing in Luke’s ears, an echo of that deep, ominous voice. His stomach twisted around the cold pit of ice that had formed within. Reluctantly, he extracted himself from his hiding spot and walked with heavy footsteps towards the foyer at the facility’s entrance where he somehow knew Vader would be waiting for him. The Rogues had been captured, and he couldn’t help but blame himself. (Selfishly, he was glad Han and Leia hadn’t been on this mission – he doubted the offer for their release would be made if Vader got his hands on Leia.) Loath as he was to become a prisoner of the Empire, to resign himself to his likely execution, he didn’t have a choice – his friends were counting on him.

_Little did he know what was truly waiting for him, the destiny he was about to walk into and the shift of everything he knew about himself and his past._


	7. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All his life, Luke Skywalker had dreamed, so he didn't think too much about the dreams he began to have about places he'd never been and people he'd never seen. That is, until, the dreams take a turn to the strange...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is largely unedited, and I might go back and edit some things later, but it's been in the works for a long time. I gotta admit, I'm a big old sucker for dreamsharing, apparently. But uhh, yeah. Here's this. Enjoy?

All his life, Luke Skywalker had _dreamed._ Waking or sleeping, it didn’t matter; images would dance across his vision, showing him another place, another time, another life, and he’d find himself longing to be _there_ instead of on the farm. Gazing out into the horizon, he could see endless possibilities, all of them preferable to the life he led. He was a restless youth, searching for meaning in the mundane, and his dreams had sustained him through the monotony.

Now, with his world expanded beyond the dunes of Tatooine and stretching out into the greater galaxy, he still found himself dreaming. Sleeping more than waking, now, but still seeming to search for something else. At last, he’d found the adventure he sought as a boy, but something still remained unfulfilled. There were questions unanswered, a destiny in the distance that he was uncertain he could fulfill, and his dreams illuminated an enticing path that promised to provide elusive and undeniable truths he could find nowhere else.

Inviting as those answers may have been, though, Luke could never truly shake the feeling that overtook his stomach when these dreams arose. It wasn’t _quite_ dread, didn’t quite whisper warnings of doom or downfall or anything quite so dramatic, but it did speak of something… _different._ Some uncertainty lurked beneath the surface, hinting at an imminent shift in his life.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. So much had already changed in his life, so much was still changing, and the Rebellion kept him busy enough for the underlying sensation to drift from his thoughts. It was some time after Cymoon, though, when he’d returned to the fleet from Ben’s hut, that the dreams shifted enough to demand his attention.

It began with simple images of places he’d never been but felt familiar, somehow. He was taken to lush, sprawling meadows, crisp, clear lakefronts and bright, bustling cities. In these places he was _alone,_ at first, but there was something that shimmered in front of him, like a mirage manifesting in the desert, and if he listened very carefully, he could almost make out voices. They remained unclear for a frustratingly long time, but they elicited deep sensations of joy and pain. Eventually, the images grew more distinct, the settings more elaborate, and it became more and more obvious that these visions did not belong to him – at least, not in any form he was _currently_ familiar with.

Dreaming of places and events that did not belong to him was not entirely new to him. As a child, he’d seen strange, white-capped mountains and seemingly endless forests, places unlike anything his home could possibly sustain. His aunt and uncle had never said much about these places, when questioned, simply urging him to keep his feet on the ground and his thoughts on the present. They had not mocked him, though, and he learned to accept that his imagination was wont to craft new and unseen worlds for him to escape to, if only for a few moments.

For a long while, these new places seemed to be nothing more than an extension of his childhood visions. But the more he saw of these unfamiliar places, the people who began to manifest within them and the words he heard them speak…

The more he learned, the more he began to _wonder._

The more he wondered, the closer he paid attention.

It all came to a head when, one night, he found himself in the clearest vision yet. A resplendent hall with a bustle of people surrounded him, but their faces were blurred, and they paid him little attention. The clearest figures, however, belonged to a man and a woman, locked in a tight embrace.

“I have wonderful news,” crowed the woman, beaming up at the man who gazed at her with an unending reverence. He had never seen them before, but they seemed achingly familiar… “I’m pregnant.”

The man seemed taken aback, for a moment, but his shock carried no trace of dismay. Quite the opposite, in fact. “That’s – that’s _wonderful news!_ Oh,” the name he uttered crackled with static, “that’s – I’m going to be a _father!_ You’re going to be a _mother_ – we’re going to be _parents!_ ” The pure joy the couple radiated overshadowed the anxiety that burbled beneath the surface. “Our baby is a blessing.”

The scene shifted, and Luke found himself standing in a smaller, much more private room as the same man paced back and forth before him. The anxiety from before crackled in the air around him, and Luke scowled, thoroughly uncertain of what was going on. This was absolutely like nothing he had ever dreamed of before, like nowhere he had ever been before, and he wondered, distantly, if it had anything to do with _the Force_ that Old Ben had barely begun introducing him to.

“Hello?” he called out, staring at the man with no shortage of trepidation.

Upon hearing his voice, the man whirled around, freezing in his tracks, and stared at Luke with bright blue eyes that seemed to mirror his own. Was – was Luke dreaming of _his father?_ It would not be the first time he’d done so. Many times, back on Tatooine, he pictured what his father might have looked like, pictured the joy they might have experienced and the bond they might have shared, but somehow… Somehow, this felt different.

A brief wave of panic thickened the air, and a shadow grew to envelop the man before him. Before Luke knew it, he was thrown from his slumber and back into the waking world with a cry. From the bunk next to him, Wedge groaned and asked, half-awake, what the problem was.

“Nothing,” Luke muttered in response. “Go back to sleep, Wedge. It’s just a dream.”

But, even though he knew that was the case, that did not make it feel any less _real._

The next several months passed restlessly, his dreams manifesting in far more mundane forms until, at last, he had nearly forgotten the fateful encounter he’d had with _that man._ That is, at least, until he witnessed the man and woman again, this time in one of those _other_ places he’d visited in his dreams, appearing far less vague and uncertain this time. Lush green grass spanned the expanse around them, a deep, blue lake stretching into the horizon before them, and Luke sat upon the soft blades next to the same man and woman from before.

“Someday,” the man proclaimed, “when this war is over, we will be happy at last.”

“Are you not happy now?” teased the woman.

The man laughed, the sound vibrant and intoxicating, and he gently nudged the woman seated next to him. “Of course I am, my love. I cannot imagine being happier than I am when I’m with you. I just mean that… well, when the conflict is ended, maybe we won’t have to _worry_ about anything but each other and our happiness. All this fighting… it feels like it’s distracting me from what _really_ matters.”

“You don’t believe that peace, freedom and stability really matter?”

“Well…” The man hesitated, avoiding the woman’s gaze, staring out towards the horizon and shifting uncomfortably next to her. “I just feel that… Our goals are noble, yes, I recognize that. But can any of this really be worth it if we can’t be together? If I can’t hold you in my arms?”

“Oh,” the man’s name was only static from her mouth as she spoke it. “I do treasure how much you care, but there are larger issues than just you and I.”

“No,” growled the man. “There aren’t. The galaxy is in disarray, and nothing we’ve done has helped to tame it. We can fight as much as we want, but all we really have control over is ourselves. Don’t you want to just… _be happy,_ for once? To be just a little bit selfish and claim the control you’ve been denied your entire life?”

The woman stiffened. The shift in her demeanour was nearly imperceptible, but clear to those who were paying attention, as Luke was. “I – I don’t feel so good,” _static,_ once again, in place of a name. “I think I’m going to head inside, lay down and rest for a while. Be careful, will you, love?”

A beat. “Yes, My Angel. Of course.”

Once again, Luke was alone with the man.

“Who are you?” he inquired, hesitantly. “Where are we?”

The man was stiff as he breathed a shaky breath. He did not look directly at Luke, but it was clear that he was acknowledging him. “You will receive your answers in due time. When – when you are ready.”

As Luke’s eyes snapped open, he did not consciously register the man’s follow-up declaration of “When _I_ am ready,” but he somehow sensed it deep within himself, even though he would not acknowledge it until months later.

It wasn’t until they were long since settle at the base at Hoth that Luke had his next mysterious dream.

He was on a sprawling veranda watching the same elegant woman from before step gracefully from a speeder to lean on the balcony and gaze out on the sunset before them. The man had eyes only for her, and Luke could not deny the deep, passionate love they shared.

A brief exchange followed, him startling her, her _concerned_ for him… But that love rang loudest and truest despite their anxieties.

“He keeps kicking,” she lamented, when the man asked how she felt.

“He?” queried the man. “I thought you’d ordered your medical droid not to spoil the surprise.” There was something wry in the way he smirked, but also something uncertain lurking behind his eyes. Betrayal, perhaps?

“Oh,” she chuckled, “I didn’t get this from Emdee. It’s my…” Her expression was gentle yet coy. “My _motherly intuition._ ”

He shook his head and laughed quietly. “Motherly intuition, huh?” Another shake of his head as he pressed his left hand against her bulging belly. “With a kick _that_ hard? Definitely a girl.”

The woman sighed softly and nestled herself against his broad chest. A burst of static replaced the name she spoke, once again, but the next words rung loud and clear. “Let’s go inside.”

“I can’t go with you…” More static.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“There’s nothing to be proud of…”

The world faded.

His surroundings were blank. Not white, not black, not grey, just… _blank._ The man stood before him.

“Luke.”

The voice that spoke his name was deeper than he’d heard from the man, but it was clear they belonged to him, nonetheless. His name rang crisp and certain, even through the anguish that seemed to gnaw at them so insistently. Luke could not help but shudder, but neither did he shy way.

“…Yes?”

“Luke…” the voice repeated, an added level of tenderness echoing through the word this time. “I can sense that you suspect your father is… that he still exists.” Luke felt his breath catch, but he did not speak. He simply waited, willing the voice to continue. “You are… correct. To a degree. I… I wish to share _the truth_ with you.” The reluctance in the voice did not match the man or the father that Luke had imagined, but he remained silent and expectant, nevertheless. Silence echoed, but it quickly grew satisfied before it was broken once again. “I will broadcast co-ordinates for us to meet one another,” the voice declared, triumphantly, “and a time I believe will be satisfactory to us both. You will learn the truth, as I have promised, so long as you make this rendezvous _alone._ ”

A distant part of him warned against the meeting, a prickling at the back of his neck insisted that it would not end the way he hoped, but… another part of him _trusted_ the voice. It was the same part that could sense truth in the words of others, and he could feel a sincerity in the strange proclamation made by this mysterious voice. Blended dread and trust swarmed his feelings, but ultimately, he conceded.

“Alright.”

Triumph bled into his sense, and shortly after, he received the co-ordinates for his fated meeting.

They were on _Naboo._ The Emperor’s homeworld. There was such an Imperial presence there that Luke felt anxiety the moment he registered this fact, but he was given a code phrase that he’d been promised would allow him to travel safely past any blockades. If he listened to Han or Leia, he would be immediately suspicious of all of this. Part of him knew he should be regardless, but the intuition that had served him for his entire life whispered otherwise. It was the same feeling that had guided him towards the destruction of the Death Star, the same feeling that had pushed him beyond what people around him proclaimed was _best_ but had been proven otherwise by his own actions. Luke pursued that feeling nagging at the back of his skull and proceeded to these co-ordinates no matter _what_ any rational decision-making process might proclaim. The fact that he knew he was to learn something as of yet unknown about his family – about his _father_ and his _mother_ – pushed him to drown out the far quieter – yet still present – klaxons of warning that blared in the depths of his mind

Nobody knew where he was going. He simply asked for leave, which had been approved, and though Leia and Han questioned him about it, he merely stated that he needed some time to collect his thoughts away from the oppressive cold of their new base. It was a half truth. Hoth was a burning cold that he was unaccustomed to, despite just how cold the desert could grow at night. The snow stung and the icy air stifled his breath in a way that he was struggling to adjust to. These were _facts,_ if not the true reason he chose to take his leave. He promised to be back, and though his intentions to return were honest, he could not bring himself to mention the uncertainty of his actual ability to keep his word.

So, despite the reluctance of his closest friends, despite the guilt he felt at leaving them behind, none the wiser to his true destination, Luke took off on his granted leave and soared towards Naboo. A thrill worked its way through his gut, anticipation blending with uncertainty to leave him fully aware that he would receive answers in _some form,_ and that would have to be good enough.

Arriving at the co-ordinates, Luke instantly felt a wave of familiarity. He’d been here in his dreams, the soft grass tickling his feet as the gentle sounds of the lake sprawling before him elicited a sense of _longing_. The slow, steady hiss of a respirator echoed across the landscape, and Luke found himself frozen in place.

“Luke,” the deep, modulated voice intoned. “You have been dreaming of… _your father._ In a lifetime best left forgotten but has come to pass nevertheless.” The Force around them grew thick, and Luke found himself barely able to breathe. Something was about to change. “It is… _unfortunate_ … that you have made these discoveries in this manner, but…” _Our baby is a blessing._

Could it be?

Was this another dream?

“ _I_ am your father,” declared the dark, dangerous figure he knew to be Darth Vader, and the Force sang loudly in confirmation. Luke’s stomach dropped, but he was rooted to the spot unable to deny the truth, unable to run from his destiny. “If you will allow it, we can share some truths with one another that are not rooted in the clouded, vague perception of dreams.” Vader paused, a sense of longing and uncertainty echoing in the air around them, genuine unfamiliarity with what was to come next radiating from his being. “There is… much you have yet to learn about your past, and… there is much I have yet to learn _about you._ ”

Instant terror wracked his form, and he had to resist the urge to reach for his blaster, for his (father’s) lightsaber, for anything to attack the man standing before him, the man he had learned to _fear,_ but…

But the ancient longing within him won out. He’d shared something intimate with this man, already, and that could not be denied. The Force was pushing them towards one another, and he could not deny the bond that had already formed between them, inadvertently. He wanted to cry, wanted to sink down to his knees and weep freely, but all he could do was stare at the armoured, masked figure before him and fight against despair.

“Luke…” There was so much left unsaid in that single syllable that Luke finally did allow himself to collapse into the grass and set loose the tears that had been stinging insistently behind his eyes since he’d landed.

All his life, he’d dreamed of meeting his father, who had really been alive in the galaxy at large.

He had just never imagined it would come about like this, and with every dream that had plagued him since the attack on the Death Star, he had held out some hope. And yet…

He couldn’t deny how this felt.

He couldn’t deny the impressions of happiness that echoed between them, as remnants from his dreams – the dreams that they had _shared_ – and despite what he’d been told, what he’d learned to _fear_ from this man…

He knew better.

_Our baby is a blessing._

“Father…”

This man had loved him since before he was born, and that meant there had to be something good within him. No matter what he’d been told, no matter what warnings he’d felt, there was something shared between them that was strong enough for dreams to draw them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose it doesn't need to be said that I took the interaction between Anakin and Padme about the boy vs girl from Matthew Stover's ROTS novelization and shifted it to suit my needs? Other interactions aren't necessarily accurate, either, but yeah.
> 
> Vader dream-sharing with Luke, tho, realizing it, and using it to lure his son to him? I'm not sure this turned out the way I wanted it to, necessarily, but sometimes characters do their own thing so this is what I came up with. Hope it reads alright !!


End file.
